


Sparkling

by BelovedCreation



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Captain Swan AU - Freeform, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-02-14 10:49:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 24,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2188914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BelovedCreation/pseuds/BelovedCreation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captain Swan AU inspired by the 2006 film "Penelope" : Princess Emma has been cursed since birth, her disfigurement guaranteeing she will never find her True Love. Despite the curse, Snow White and Charming search for a suitable royal husband to help her rule the kingdom. Captain Killian Jones of the Jolly Rodger, impersonating a prince, somehow finds his way among the suitors. Emma is looking for a partner and Killian is looking for gold. What neither of them expects to find is True Love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Curse

Once upon a time, there was a princess named Snow White. Her stepmother, the Evil Queen Regina, set out to destroy her happiness. For years, she kept Snow White from claiming her father’s throne and the kingdom that was her right by blood. Finally, Snow White and her husband Prince Charming outsmarted Regina and kept her from being able to use her evil magic to hurt them. Snow White and Charming took back the kingdom and ruled it with love and compassion.

Furious, Regina made another plan. A dark, sinister plan. She knew that she could no longer hurt the new King and Queen. But she could still take away their happiness, and the happiness of their royal family. Drawing upon her clever cruelty, Regina cast a curse upon the rulers of the land. She made it so that their children would be disfigured, would look like beasts and be hated for their appearance. She cast a curse that guaranteed the children of Snow White and Charming would never find the happiness that had made these two stronger than they were individually.

A year after their wedding, Snow White gave birth to a daughter. The bliss of the last several months was shattered when little Princess Emma was placed in her arms. Emma’s nose and ears were like that of a pig, and a tiny tail wriggled above her royal posterior.

Horrified, Snow White and Charming sought the help of the sorcerer Rumpelstiltskin, the Dark One, the same man who had helped them defeat Regina. After giggling most unhelpfully for a quarter hour, the sorcerer declared there was little he could do. He cast a spell to re-shape Princess Emma’s ears and shrink her tail back into her body. But the nose, he declared, had to remain. The nose was the central piece of Regina’s spell and the part that wouldn’t respond to even his most powerful magics.

Giggling again, Rumpelstiltskin declared that Princess Emma’s nose would have to stick. It would prevent her from finding love and continuing the royal bloodline. He also warned Snow White and Charming that any other children they bore would be cursed with the same disfigurements. Sorrow-laden, the young royals devoted all of their love and care into their daughter, hoping to raise a princess that could inspire affection outside of her appearance and be joined to a suitable royal that would care more for connections and power than physical beauty.

The young princess was kept hidden from the kingdom. She was confined to a single wing of the castle and only seen by a handful of trusted servants. She was given all the best tutors and educated in everything from politics to swordfighting to throwing a party. But hers was a lonely life, and she was constantly reminded that she would never have hope of finding True Love for herself.

On her twenty-first birthday, Queen Snow White and King Charming threw a ball in her honor, inviting eligible princes and dukes from near and far. This was to be her first glimpse of the outside world and the opportunity to find her a husband...


	2. The Party

Captain Killian Jones could never resist a party, particularly when it was thrown by royals.

The ports of Navaria have been ringing for months with plans for the princess’s birthday party. All the finest spices and delicacies were being imported, making for easy pickings for the pirate and his crew. If Snow White and Charming continued throwing extravagant parties for their daughter, Killian would be making a fortune every fall. The ships full of royals are too dangerous for him to get near - too well-guarded and not nearly enough fortune. Ransom would have been nice, but it was never Killian’s style. No, he is happy enough with his small potatoes: jewels, fine cloth, exotic foods.

But when he ends up in the royal capital on the night of Princess Emma’s 25th birthday, Killian can’t resist having a little fun. It is almost too easy to knock out a prince, steal his fine coat and invitation, and make his way to the palace. He anticipates a night of dancing, pickpocketing unsuspecting nobles, and maybe even have some fun with a willing princess or scullery maid.

He isn’t particularly picky.

The party promises to be full of displays of the usual pomp and circumstance and Killian is not disappointed. Fireworks go off as he enters the palace, and royalty are mingling about the ballroom. With the same confidence that has helped him lead a crew of pirates for ten years, Killian strides around the party, enjoying tasty finger foods and several flutes of champagne. He waltzes with a dozen women, picking up rings and earrings and bracelets easily. None of them notice; stupid fools feel so secure among their own they never dream that a pirate could be in their midst.

The party is beginning to wind down when Killian decides to join the line of suitors waiting to meet the princess. If the rumors are correct, her last four birthday parties have been handled this way as well. Princess Emma spends the night on her throne, letting eligible princes and nobles greet her one-by-one. Ten of the men are invited to stay at the palace for a week and given a chance to woo the princess more informally.

So far, none of the men have been declared the future ruler of Navaria.

The most puzzling piece of this rumor is that no one has ever seen Princess Emma’s face. She has only been seen in public on her last four birthdays, and even then she has a veil draped over her face. Only her eyes are exposed, green eyes that have bewitched all of her suitors. When pressed for more information, none of the men have revealed anything more about the princess’s appearance. They claim she is clever, will make a brilliant queen, and has shown them nothing but hospitality.

But none of them married her.

Killian doesn’t care to listen to rumors. Now that he is here, at the Navarian palace, he intends to meet Princess Emma for himself.

And he only has to wait four songs before it is his turn. This late at night, the line has shortened considerably. He approaches the throne with an elaborate bow that had taken several years to perfect. Queen Snow White sits on the center throne, flanked by her husband and daughter. Both of the rulers wear kind smiles on their faces and the faintest hint of laughter lines around the eyes. These are kindly royals, the sort that was always easy to steal from. They trust too easily.

After surveying the royal couple, Killian turns his gaze to their daughter. Princess Emma is indeed covered up. Her long golden locks are swept into elaborate braids and curls and bracelets line her arms. But her face is kept hidden by a patterned gold scarf. She has inherited the tall grace of her father and the petite figure of her mother. For the life of him, Killian can’t imagine that she hadn’t also inherited their attractive faces.

So why keep hidden?

Killian sweeps into another bow because he figures the princess enjoys some good flattery. “Princess Emma, your highness, I have heard rumors of your beauty but nothing compares to seeing it for myself.”

When he looks up again, he catches her eyes. They are bottle green and piercing. They are not the eyes of a simpering idiot. They are the eyes of a queen. An eyebrow rises in annoyance. “Are you fond of the beautiful, milord?” There is a roughness to her tone that suggests she cares little for things that are pretty, despite the stunning ballroom.

He smirks, deciding to go with the truth. “More fond of the expensive, your highness. Gold is my favorite color and I can’t help but admire the way you glow in it.”

Identical furrows appear between her parents’ brows, but Princess Emma only chuckles. “Ah, so a royal who admits why he has come to one of my parties! The Kingdom of Navaria does enjoy a good lavish party. The more pomp the better my parents always say. Tell me, milord, what kingdom do you come from? Do you have this much gold at your celebrations?”

“More, your highness, when I can afford it,” Killian smiles. “Alas, the Kingdom of Calder has ups and downs in the economy. I hope to help my brother stabilize our wealth when he becomes king, but Father does not take well to our criticisms.”

“Calder?” Snow White asks, furrow deepening. “Is that kingdom far from here? I do not believe I have heard of it before.”

“Very far, your majesty,” Killian lies smoothly. “So far away that no news reached us about Princess Emma’s yearly celebrations until after her twenty-fourth birthday.”

Princess Emma interrupts. “And yet the news reached you in time for my twenty-fifth. Tell me, milord, what drew you to the celebration? Was it the news of the elaborate celebrations or was it the chance to woo a wealthy princess?”

“Emma!” interjects Charming, “that is hardly a polite question to ask one of your-”

Killian waves his hands and shakes his head, “Not at all, your majesty. I am not offended.” He turns his gaze back to Princess Emma. “I came because I have always craved adventure. I wanted to see the world.” He pauses to lick his suddenly-dry lips. This princess is a feisty one. “And I came because I wanted to see the mysterious and hidden Princess Emma of Navaria for myself.”

“And?” she asks, her eyes filled with amusement, “What do you make of me?”

He smiles. “I gather that you are impulsive, proud, witty, and observant. I gather that you are bored with this parade of suitors and, if the past four years are any indication, you have high standards for your future partner.” He steps forward and drops his voice, sharing his last impression with only the princess. “And if I had to guess, you would rather be anywhere than sitting here talking with a bunch of royal idiots.”

She blinks in shock and Killian has to stop himself from letting his smile spread further. He is being quite foolish, but it is fun to speak his mind to royalty and get away with it. His teasing would do no harm so long as he is thought to be just another prince.

Princess Emma stands and for a half a moment, Killian fears that he has crossed the line and she will have him thrown out of the party, or worse, executed. Instead, she steps off the dais and extends her hand towards the pirate.

“You are correct on all accounts, milord, especially the remarks about my wit and my boredom. Would you care to alleviate the latter and dance with me?”

“Emma, dear,” her mother protests, “do you really think you should-”

“I will be fine, Mother,” the princess responds, and Killian doesn’t have to see her mouth to know that she is speaking through gritted teeth. “You do not need to worry.” She gently touches the scarf to ensure its attachment.

Killian can only take her hand and lead her to the dance floor, wondering what on earth he has done to end up dancing with the Navarian princess.


	3. The Dance

Princess Emma of Navaria is bored to tears.

And she is pissed as hell.

After the complete disaster that was her 21st birthday ball, she had refused to let another one be thrown on her 22nd. None of the ten selected suitors had stood up to her rigorous testing. Five of them turned out to be idiots not fit to rule a small village, much less an influential kingdom. Two of them had no idea how to use a sword, which would leave Navaria completely vulnerable to outside attacks. Two of them had known nothing of the surrounding kingdoms nor had the political skills necessary to handle foreign relations.

Only one man had gotten close to an engagement. He was smart, kind, and talented. She didn’t love him, but Emma had never held any delusions that she would marry a man for love. With her disfigurement, she would be lucky to find a man that she could stand. Her requirements were mostly for the Kingdom of Navaria and its need for strong leadership. Her own parents had been model rulers and Emma wanted to find a partner that could help her do the same. And she knew that she needed someone with the charisma and charm that she lacked. A queen with the nose of a pig could never be a public figure.

Prince Baelfire had seemed to hold all of the requirements. They had gotten along well enough, and Emma even began to trust him by the end of the week of wooing. Her parents dismissed all of the other suitors and Emma called Baelfire to her private sitting room. She told him calmly and carefully that she thought he would be a suitable husband, but that he needed to know the truth before they wed. Hands trembling, she pulled off the scarf and exposed her face to the prince.

He jumped out the window.

He hadn't died (more the pity), even though it had been quite the fall. Prince Baelfire had been allowed to return home to his kingdom provided he took a forgetting potion. Once swallowed, he forgot all about his week of whispering sweet nothings in Emma’s ear and promising to be her partner in life.

Emma hadn’t shown her face to any of the suitors since.

She is getting sick of this yearly tradition. She knows that it is futile and yet her parents insist. They would be better off letting her run the kingdom in a few years’ time and trusting her to find someone to take it over upon her death: a distant cousin perhaps, or a trusted advisor. Anyone but the greedy idiots that come through to gawk at the concealed princess and eat all of the expensive foods.

At least this prince is honest.

She isn't going to lie to herself, she is attracted to his good looks and charm. An ugly woman enjoys the sight of a handsome man. And he is smart enough to keep up with her, which she knows to be no easy feat. Half of the royal men milling about have been at all of her previous birthdays and are merely vying for a chance at the next round. The other half have never been to Navaria before, and are been drawn in by rumors and hopes. Emma takes vicious pleasure in crushing the hopes of men, especially handsome ones.

The man holding her in his arms and twirling her around the dance floor doesn't look particularly hopeful. In fact, by Emma’s estimation he is the only suitor who approached her throne this evening without pretense. Sure, he had plied her with compliments at the start, but that was all too typical. None of the other men caught on to her distaste for flattery. This prince is smarter than most and Emma is intrigued.

“Milord, I am afraid that I have not caught your name,” Emma says, breaking the silence of the dance.

“It is because I have not thrown it, your highness,” the man replies with a wink. He bows as is appropriate to the dance and grins. “I am Prince Charles.”

“Prince Charles, I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“No you’re not, love, but thanks for saying it.”

“I- I- what?” Emma sputters, losing time and nearly hit by another dancer. Charles swoops in and pulls her along and out of danger.

“Of course you aren’t happy to meet me, Princess Emma. Like I said, you are bored to death. I can’t imagine how you couldn’t be. You wouldn’t believe some of the conversations I have been forced to endure this evening. All about gowns and food and gossip. I have not caught a trace of anyone discussing politics or history or literature. Now _those_ are interesting subjects.”

Emma nearly loses track of the dance again. Is this man speaking the truth? She looks into his eyes and sees only openness and a trace of merriment.

“You don’t believe me?” he asks, reading her like an open book. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t. All of these puffed-up suitors trying to make themselves look good. I can promise you I have not come with any designs on stealing your heart.”

“Then you are the smartest man in this room,” Emma says cooly, recovering her strength. “because I have no designs on allowing my heart to be stolen.”

Charles gives her a confused look. “You don’t seek to marry for love, Princess? I had assumed with your parents and their famous acts of True Love-”

She shakes her head. “I do not have that luxury, as long as I am the sole heir of Navaria and the Evil Queen continues to live. We must ever be on guard in case she attacks. I seek to marry someone who is skilled in diplomacy, war, and leadership. Love does not factor in.”

The song ends and Charles bows again. “Then you are the smartest woman in the room, to know your kingdom’s needs so well. I wish you luck on your quest.”

He leaves without a second glance and Emma is stunned again. This man is puzzle she can't begin to solve. He speaks to her with frankness, looks like a dream, and moves with a quiet grace. She is half-tempted to invite him to spend the week at the palace, just to get a break from the group of mediocre royalty that awaits her.

After all, what could it hurt? And it is sure to make her parents unhappy.


	4. The Invitation

Killian is almost out the door when he is stopped by a hand on his wrist. Surprised and worried, he turns on his heel, his hand on the hilt of his sword. Has he been discovered?

“Excuse me, Prince Charles,” the tiny man says, peering up at Killian around a beak-like nose, “I am charged to give you this invitation.” He holds out a square of parchment with an elaborate flourish.

Killian takes it with a nod. “Thank you.” The man bows shortly and disappears back into the crowd. When he looks down at the paper, Killian is shocked to find that he has been invited to stay at the palace for a week and woo the princess. This could hardly have been more unexpected. Scanning the crowd, Killian finds Princess Emma sitting back on her throne. They lock eyes and Killian gives her a disbelieving eyebrow.

_You sure about this, princess?_

She leans back against the throne and leisurely crosses her legs, narrowing her eyes.

_I don’t make mistakes, milord._

He shrugs and offers her a bow across the dance floor. She lifts her champagne flute in response and Killian takes his leave.

This is a turn of events.

Killian makes haste to return back to the Jolly Roger. He has many preparations to make before the next morning.

* * *

 

Captain Killian Jones arrives back at the palace bright and early the next day. At his side is Smee, dressed up to look like a manservant. Smee has managed to secure an entire prince’s wardrobe for Killian throughout the night, accomplished by sneaking into inns and royal ships. He never takes more that a single item from a noble, so as to decrease chances of anyone claiming theft. It had taken him all night, and Killian can see the clear lines of fatigue across his face.

The rest of the Jolly Roger’s crew has been granted a seven-day leave. A few trusted crew members are charged to take care of the ship in Killian’s absence on threat of death if he found it in less than pristine shape. He doesn't want to have to worry about his precious ship while he is having an adventure of his own.

And it is to be an adventure, of that Killian is sure. He had spoken the truth to Princess Emma the night before: he has no designs on stealing her heart or ruling the Kingdom of Navaria. But to be invited into a palace for a week with foolish royalty? That is a chance Killian can't turn down. He can nick some candleholders and jewels, maybe challenge some royal idiots to cards, and, if he is lucky, get a glimpse of the royal treasury and steal away some of the really expensive items.

Not to mention the chance to sleep on fine linens and a soft bed. Killian could use a vacation, and this is shaping up to be an excellent one.

He produces his invitation at the gate and is shown into the palace without a moment’s hesitation. Ahhh, to have the freedom to enter all this grandeur two days in a row. Killian could get used to this.

At the foot of the grand staircase, Killian is stopped by a line of servants. “Prince Charles,” says a tall man with rather large ears, “the royal family is pleased that you have accepted their invitation. Your manservant will be shown into your quarters if you would like to join the royal family immediately. They are breaking their fast in the private dining room.”

Killian nods at Smee. “That would be excellent.”

The large-eared man snaps his fingers and a woman steps forward, a curvy beauty with wide eyes and wild brown hair. “Rosa would be pleased to show you to the dining room, your highness.”

His grin widens at the sight of the lovely servant. “I would be pleased to be escorted, Rosa.” The woman giggles and blushes. Oh yes, Killian can imagine this week providing all kinds of fun. She shyly ducks her head and hurries down the hallway. Killian rushes to keep up, and before he can decide how to let her know that he is in no way attached to the princess, they arrive at a large door.

She bobs a curtsy. “I hope you enjoy your stay, your highness.”

“I expect that I will, Rosa,” Killian smiles, meeting her eyes. She turns away with another flush and leaves him to enter alone.

The private dining room is a lovely room with large windows overlooking the sea. Killian can almost get a glimpse of the Jolly Roger waiting for him to return to her. The table seats fourteen, and by Killian’s quick estimation he is the final suitor to arrive. So much for arriving early. The other men had sat as close as possible to the princess, who is perched on the opposite side of the table from where Killian had entered. All’s the better, he figures. He is here to pickpocket the princes anyway.

“Prince Charles,” smiles the King in a booming voice, “how good of you to join us! My daugher was beginning to wonder if you had turned down her invitation.”

“I wouldn’t dare, your majesty,” Killian grins, seating himself beside Charming. “Your daughter’s dancing was so lovely last night that all I could do was dream of her. You must forgive me for sleeping in and arriving late.”

Charming beams and exchanges pleased looks with his wife. Killian thinks he hears the sound of Princess Emma huffing under her breath, but she is much too far away to be certain.


	5. The Breakfast

Emma is ready to eliminate half of these men and it isn't even noon.

Her parents picked seven of the suitors: Princes Claud, George, and Marcus; Dukes Leonardo, Lief, Xander, and Terryn. The last three had been her choices: Duke Janshai of Agrabah for his diplomacy skills, Prince Geoffrey of Lutarr for his military skills, and Prince Charles of Caldar for his cleverness.

Xander remains on her list due to his considerable charm. He had enchanted her mother instantly with his good looks and easy smile. And her father's favorite is Marcus, the seventh son of a seventh son. Emma surveys him critically, taking in his broad shoulders and the paw-like hands that are currently shoveling food into his mouth. He isn't really her type - too large and stupid, but his heritage suggests virility that could be helpful for continuing the royal line. Thinking pragmatically, he shouldn't be too easily overlooked.

There is the lack of brains to consider. Is he as stupid as he seemed the night before? "Prince Marcus," she pipes up, breaking her silence, "what do you make of the recent alliance between the kingdoms of Tesouro and Pilioque?"

Marcus's wide eyes reveal his shock at being asked such a question. He quickly swallows and grunts. "Dunno."

"Really?" she presses. "I thought it rather a strange union."

A scoff comes from the far end of the table. "I thought it strange it hadn't happened years ago," is the gruff accompaniment.

"Excuse me?" Emma asks, straining to see who has spoken. "Whatever do you mean?"

The dark hair of Prince Charles comes into view, followed by his bright blue eyes. Emma is immediately thankful for the scarf that hides the drop of her lower jaw and the surprise it would have betrayed. Oh yes, she is most definitely attracted to the prince. "The leaders of Tesouro and Pilioque have hated one another for years. But they hate the king of Sharrva worse. They'll be declaring war on Sharrva within the next few months I am sure."

Emma snorts and her mother gives her a look of horror. She ignores it. “War on Sharrva? Their military is the best in the region! Tesouro and Pilioque could never face them, not even as a single unit.”

Charles shrugs. “Pilioque has been gathering mercenaries. They will do just fine.” And he calmly takes another bite of his eggs, as if his words haven’t sent shock waves up and down the table.

“Mercenaries?” her father echoes, his own eyes like saucers. “How do you know?”

The prince swallows his breakfast. “Caldar has an excellent navy that sails all over the Enchanted Forest. You’d be amazed to find out what you can pick up in pubs and taverns. News travels quickly over the ocean.”

“And you choose to believe drunken gossip?” Emma mutters.

Charles bristles, the line of his mouth becoming firm. “I listen to the common folk, your highness. I may not rule a large and influential kingdom, but I understand the importance of being aware of what is going on and the need to listen to news both big and small.” He leans back in his chair, removing himself from Emma’s eyesight. She can feel his annoyance from across the table.

“Well,” says her mother after a minute, breaking the tense silence with a merry clap of her hands, “nothing aids digestion quite like a brisk walk. Would you gentlemen care to take a tour of the grounds? The roses have just come in and they are simply stunning.”

Snow offers a cherry smile to the table and gestures towards the door. Her father stands and begins escorting the company out of the room, already chattering about topiaries and pebbled pathways. Emma moves to follow when she is held back by her mother’s firm hand on the sleeve of her red gown. She doesn't need to look back to know that the pleasant look on Snow’s face has melted into motherly frustration.

“Emma, you need to behave!” Snow scolds.

“I know, Mama,” she replies dully.

“I am serious. You are a grown woman and you are beyond such rudeness. Prince Charles is a guest in our home and will not be subject to your snobbery.”

“Snobbery!” Emma flusters, but Snow barrels on.

“Yes, snobbery. You’ve made forty men jump through hoops for you since we started these birthday celebrations.” She gestures towards the door. “There are ten eligible men out there. At least one of them should be decent enough to help you rule the kingdom. Its time for you to be realistic with your expectations, Emma. Its time for you to pick a husband.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “You make it sound like such an exciting prospect, Mama. I just can’t wait to marry one of those idiots. Perhaps I should choose a name out of a hat or-”

She is cut off by her mother’s glance. But instead of the expected annoyance there is a flash of pain. Snow grips Emma’s arm tighter, eyes welling up with tears. She slides her other hand under Emma’s scarf and caresses her face underneath, her mother’s soft hands gliding over her cheek and her thumb brushing against the horrible nose.

“I never wanted this for you,” she whispers. “I wanted you to be able to find your True Love. To know the happiness I share with your father.”

The tension leaves Emma’s shoulders as she moves her own hand to cover her mother’s. “I know.”

“Just- just- choose wisely, Emma,” she stutters. “Follow your heart and choose someone you feel affection for. The rest of your life is an awful long time to spend with someone you hate. Don’t worry about your list of perfect attributes. Choose a partner that makes you smile. You will be a magnificent queen some day. Choose someone who brings out the best in you.”

Emma chuckles darkly. “Maybe we should have searched for a blind noble. Someone who could stand to be in my presence with my face uncovered.”

The pain returns to her mother’s eyes and she draws her hand back. “I can’t lose hope for you, Emma. I can’t lose hope that you will find your happy ending.” The tears are back and Emma has to pull her mother into a hug to keep herself from breaking down as well. When they pull apart, the stern frown is back, but only an echo of what it had been a minute ago. “Now let’s go take a walk with your suitors and see what happens.”

They have almost caught up with the group when her mother hisses in her ear a final instruction. “And apologize to Prince Charles!”


	6. The Garden

So this is what he gets for sharing coveted information?

Killian frowns to himself and tugs his light jacket closer to his body, feeling chilly from the fall breeze and the cold stares of his fellow nobles. From up ahead, he can barely hear the King give information on the plants found in the garden. The noblemen have all paired off, leaving Killian quite alone. If he is to gamble with the young men this evening, he will have to find a way to earn their affection again. At the moment, they must all be mentally composing letters to be sent home to their parents warning of an upcoming war in the region.

Foolish idiots to know less about politics than a simple pirate.

Killian detects the scent of something spicy and turns his head to see the princess and Queen have joined them in the gardens. The sloped lines of the princess’s shoulders show that she is clearly pouting. Her mother shoots her a stern gaze before offering Killian a sweet smile and sweeping past him and the princes to join her husband at the front of the tour group.

So Princess Emma has been told to make reparations to Prince Charles.

“Prince Charles,” she says rather stiffly, confirming his suspicions, “would you care to escort me through the gardens?”

Killian offers a ridiculous bow, as he has realized that such a thing is sure to piss her off. “It would be my pleasure, Princess Emma,” he replies in the most stuck-up voice he can manage without laughing at the daggers shooting from her eyes. He offers her his arm and she immediately digs her fingers into him, making his spine tense.

“I am afraid that I must apologize for my words at the table, Prince Charles. They were rude of me and I promise to be more compassionate in the future.”

He fights to hold back the smile that wants to crawl across his face. Damn her for being able to conceal her emotions with fabric. He and all the princes are forced to wear their feelings out in the open. After several moments of struggling, he finally lets loose with a hearty chuckle that earns him several confused and scandalized backwards gazes from the walking party. Princess Emma’s eyes hold the same surprise.

“I’m so sorry, Princess,” Killian manages to sputter, swallowing his laughter but not his amusement. “I was furious at you when we stepped out here, but seeing how much you hate saying you’re sorry is just too damn funny!” He chuckles again and is glad to see the corners of her eyes crinkle as well.

Her grip on his arm loosens and he feels the pair of them finally relax. He pats her hand and wipes the tears that have gathered in the corners of his eyes. “I am sorry, I believe that I have regained my senses.”

“You are quite alright, milord. I have never been good at controlling my temper and I absolutely _loathe_ having to apologize. I imagine that there was a lack of sincerity that was very amusing.”

“So you’re always like that?” Killian teases.

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Often worse, Prince Charles.”

Killian frowns. Using a pseudonym is necessary, but makes this interaction feel disingenuous. And the thought that he dislikes being false with the princess sets off another set of warning bells in his head. He needs to be careful before he starts to allow his adventure in the palace to get away with him. His frown deepens.

“Oh no, please don’t tell me I have managed to insult you once again,” Princess Emma groans, playfully nudging him with her elbow. He is startled to realize that she has noticed his unhappiness. And her observation brings another rush of pleasure to his stomach.

“You have not insulted me, Princess. I was just wondering where it is.”

“Where what is?” she asks, eyebrows now furrowed in confusion.

The group comes to a stop as Charming and Snow White banter about the topiaries. The other gentlemen offer polite laughter, but Killian ignores them completely. “The place that you would rather have been last night as you received dozens of suitors who were clumsily vying for your hand.”

“If I didn’t know better I would say that you were jealous,” she replies.

Killian scoffs at her assumption. “Not at all, Princess. As I told you, I have no desire to steal your heart.” _I would rather steal your money._ “But I find the whole game of courting to be ridiculous." He sighs. "We are being paraded around and pressured to be on our best behavior. But we all know that it is the desire for money and power that have brought these royals from their far-away kingdoms. They will wax poetic about your beauty but never ask you a single question about your own heart.”

The group surges forward again, but Princess Emma holds him back. A glance reveals that she is frozen in place. He takes both of her hands in his, struck by a moment of panic. What has happened to the princess? Her eyes are wide and he wishes that he could pull the veil from her face and gather more information on her emotionally state.

“So there is no hope for me?” she whispers.

Killian is struck by a wave of regret for the words that tumbled thoughtlessly out of his mouth.

“Of course not, Princess Emma. Of course not. Please do not listen to the blatherings of a backwoods prince of no importance. I was only speaking of the hypothetical, of what I had witnessed in courtly wooing. I am often disgusted by the lies that transpire. These princes and dukes cannot all be vile. There must be at least one among them that is fit to be your future husband. Forgive me, I spoke without thinking.”

Her hands have gone cold, and Killian begins frantically rubbing them between his own to return her circulation. Her eyes gaze to a far-away place and the chatter of the crowd grows faint. No one has noticed that they have fallen behind. Spotting a bench nearby, Killian gently places his arm around her shoulders and guides her to the seat. His hand remains wrapped around hers, in a jumble on his lap. They are entwined in a manner most intimate, and Killian wonders what would happen if they are discovered. Would her parents be furious, our would the excited royals quickly announce their daughter's engagement to the Prince of Caldar? It is this terrifying thought that makes Killian pull away from the princess.

At the loss of contact, she appears to come back to herself. He gazes at her profile, staring straight forward, as she blinks rapidly.

“I am so sorry, Prince Charles,” she says in a low voice, not looking at him. “I do not know what came over me.”

Killian knows exactly what is on her mind. It is glaringly obvious. “Why do you keep doing this, lass?” he asks in a gentle voice, letting himself slip back into the soft pirate’s voice he has been using for ten years now.

She finally looks at him, confusion in her eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I just wonder why you keep parading suitors through your castle every year. If you were just looking for a run-of-the-mill prince I would think you could have found him four years ago.”

She is quiet for so long that Killian begins to wonder if she even heard him speak. When he takes a breath to say it again, she finally answers. “I did.”

And in those two words is so much sorrow that Killian is reminded of his own pain, of his Milah, of the woman who left him at port five years ago and never returned. Princess Emma has felt that same pain, even in her sheltered life shut up in this palace. One of those original suitors broke her heart and she has not recovered.

“I thought you weren’t looking for love,” he says, communicating his understanding.

She blinks again, and he imagines that a brave smile is breaking out somewhere under the layers of fabric. “I’m not,” she says. “I’m looking for a ruler for this kingdom and a father for the next generation of royalty.” She stands, and although she is shaky for a moment, her shoulders roll back and her chin lifts and she has once again become the proud princess he met the night before. He stands as well and offers her an arm. She takes it firmly and allows him to lead them down the path at a brisk pace.

“If you are looking for a large family, might I suggest Prince Marcus?” Killian offers with a smirk. “He comes from vigorous stock and if the size of his hands are any indication-”

The princess snorts and Killian is able to smile again, promising himself that he will send Smee to inquire of the other manservants this afternoon to find out which of these fools of royals will be the worst at cards.

When they arrive back at the palace doors, the young princes and dukes make their way to their guest chambers to rest and prepare for the formal evening meal. Killian kisses Princess Emma’s hand when they part, thanking her for the honor of escorting her through the gardens.

Before pulling away, the princess leans forward and whispers, “The library.” Seeing the look of confusion across his face, she elaborates. “When I was receiving our guests last night I was wishing I could be in the library next to my chambers. That is my favorite place in the whole castle.”

Killian offers her another bow, but softens the ridiculousness with a wink and a smirk. “I will keep that in mind, your highness.”


	7. The Story

Emma takes a deep, satisfied breath and rubs her hands over her face. Wearing a scarf or a veil all of the time is so _confining_. She can hardly breathe through the layers of fabric. It has become her armor, her shield against the outside world. She can hardly wait for this week to be over so she can go back to wandering around her wing of the castle, free from the thick layers that block her from the people she loves most in the world.

In the past twenty-four hours she has spent one-on-one time with four of the royal suitors: a game of chess with Prince Geoffrey (which she lost spectacularly, much to her amusement), late afternoon tea with Duke Leif (he slurped like a barbarian and they had nothing to talk about), morning croquet with Prince George (a cocky sonofabitch), and early afternoon tea with Duke Janshai (full of stimulating conversation).

Yawning and stretching, Emma curls up in a delightfully oversized chair and prepares for an afternoon nap in her library. No one should disturb her for at least an hour, when she will be forced to sit through another intricate hairstyling and a debate with her mother over this evening’s gown. She is just nodding off to sleep when a throat clears behind her and a husky voice whispers, “Excuse me, Princess?”

Thank goodness Emma has the presence of mind to pull the fabric of her skirt up to block her face before she turns around to look at the interloper. It is Prince Charles, wearing black leather trousers and a flowing black shirt - a much more casual outfit than Emma has seen on him before, but for some reason it seems to suit him better than the elaborate dress coats. With his dark hair and piercing blue eyes, Emma is reminded of the time an animal tamer came to the palace with a jungle cat. Prince Charles would strike her as dangerous as that panther if not for the sheepish blush that is spreading across his face at her bewilderment.

“I am so sorry, your highness, I had no idea-” he sputters, turning his back to her. He begins to walk towards the door. “I will leave you to your privacy-”

“No, no, that is not necessary,” she interjects, voice muffled through her dress. He stops immediately, but makes no motion to face her again. Emma realizes he is giving her a chance to gather herself. With an internal huff of irritation, she tugs the scarf back around her face, securing it safely before calling out to him again. “You may join me, Prince Charles.” He turns again, the blush gone, and settles into the seat opposite her own.

“What are you keeping hidden under there, Princess?” he asks, gesturing to the white fabric covering her face and completely skipping over the expected preamble.

Emma blinks in surprise. “No one ever asks me that,” she says.

His eyebrows rise. “They all think it, though." His lilting voice becomes teasing. "Maybe they’re all just too afraid that you are a Gorgon and if you reveal your face they will be turned to stone.”

She chuckles. “And what do _you_ think is under my scarf, milord?”

Charles runs the back of his hand across the scruff lining his jaw, a comical look of consideration crossing his face. She finds herself holding her breath, wishing that she could predict the answer that he will give.

“Feathers,” he says finally. “I think you’ve got feathers under there.” He gestures again, flicking his wrist at her.

“Feathers?”

“Yeah,” he smiles, “I think you’re a real-life Swan Princess, all dressed in white like that.”

“Swan Princess? I am afraid I am unfamiliar with that term."

"You've never heard the story of the Swan Princess?" he asks, obviously bewildered.

"Never."

His grin only grows and, not for the first time, Emma begins to wonder how a man with a mischievous smile like that could possibly be a royal. “Then I must contribute to your education, Princess.” She settles down into her chair once again, gesturing for him to start telling his tale. He leans back and turns his gaze to the ceiling, as if recalling a story from long ago. When he speaks, it is without the clipped consonants of the cultured nobles in another wing of the palace. His words are like velvet, gently caressing the still air of the library.

“Once upon a time there once was a princess named Odette, and she was the most beautiful princess in all the lands. She had been promised since birth to marry Prince Derek, of the neighboring kingdom. They saw each other every summer and they _hated_ each other.” He turns his gaze back to Emma and offers a wink, silently promising that this story will end happily, but not without the prince and princess experiencing some troubles.

“When they come of age, Odette and Derek meet again and fall in love instantly. They promise to finally marry one another, but Odette has one condition: she wants to know why Derek loves her. Like any lass, she wants a little reassurance of her fellow’s affection. But the miserable sod can’t come up with anything besides how beautiful she is. Odette is furious that he can’t see beyond the physical.” Emma smirks. This Odette sounds like her kind of girl.

“So Odette runs out of the palace and runs straight into Rothbart, an evil sorcerer who wants the kingdom for himself.” Charles wriggles his fingers to suggest the sorcerer’s power and cruelty. Emma pictures Rothbart to look something like the diminutive Rumplestiltskin she has heard of so many times before. “He transforms Odette into a swan and promises to release her from the spell if she’ll only marry him. Well, a princess who won’t stand a decent prince who can’t see past her looks won’t fall for a sorcerer who curses her. So she refuses for years and years.

“Meanwhile, Derek finally straightens up and realizes maybe he likes the princess for other reasons, like her kindness and her brains, and he searches day and night for the lost princess. One night he finally finds her, when he is camping on a lake and a swan flies past, landing on the water as the moon rises. You see, there’s a loophole to this curse. If she is on a special lake when the moon rises and the light touches her wings, she transforms into her human shape, but only until the sun rises. Well, Derek happens upon her just by chance and he sees Odette and he comes to her and apologizes for what an idiot he’s been.

“And even though I think Derek is a bit of a tosser, Odette apparently loves him, because she forgives him for being an idiot and the two of them kiss.” He pauses, rolling his eyes at the silliness of fairy tales. “Of course, True Love’s Kiss breaks any curse, and she is no longer trapped in the body of a swan. And they lived happily ever after.”

He leans forward, eyebrows raised, asking for her opinion on the story.

“You don’t believe in True Love’s Kiss?”

He starts. “That’s what you got out of that story? True Love’s Kiss?”

“You had quite a reaction to that particular plot point.”

Charles’s hand moves to scratch behind his ear, the look of contemplation now genuine. “I just have a hard time believing that two people could fall in love like that. That she would be so quick to forgive him for being an idiot. Honestly, I don’t think Derek deserved her.”

“True Love isn’t about deserving one another,” Emma replies, images of her parents coming to mind. “It is about giving and forgiving in equal measure. It is about committing to one another, no matter what, and promising to always find the other. No one deserves True Love because no one is perfect enough for it. But True Love makes us better and challenges us to try to be deserving of all its graces and mercies.”

She can feel the flush that is rising on her cheeks during this surprise speech. As much as she tries to forget about True Love, she sees its marks every day in the soft touches and gentle looks between Snow White and Charming. Not for the first time, she feels a dull ache in her heart at the knowledge that she is cursed to be forever without her True Love.

“I had forgotten that you must be somewhat of an expert on the subject,” Charles murmurs, and the way he gazes into her eyes takes away her breath because she _knows_ that he knows what she is thinking. “I suppose the product of True Love must always be searching for True Love of her own.”

Emma turns away, mentally shaking herself from the spell that his story and bright blue eyes are casting. “Alas,” she sighs dramatically, faking a levity that she does not feel, “True Love must skip a generation. I told you, Prince Charles, I am marrying with my head, not my heart.”

When she looks at him again, he has turned as well to gaze around the room, taking in the mountain of books that provide her only glimpse of the world outside. “Then you have chosen an excellent location to ponder your decision, Princess. A library is the best place to focus on the head, not the heart. I hope my story of romance has not ruined your train of thought.”

“Not at all, Prince Charles.” She lowers her voice. “I was napping. That is why I did not hear you until you were right behind me.” She pauses, suddenly realizing. “Come to think of it, how did you make it into my private wing unnoticed? There should have been guards that prevented you from getting close enough to sneak up on me.” She eyes him suspiciously and he breaks into another less-than-royal grin.

“Forgive me, Swan, but I have a certain knack for sneaking into places I do not belong. I’ll let you get back to your nap.” He turns to leave, his feet making no noise on the wooden floors.

He is almost out the door when she catches what he said. “Swan?” she calls out after him.

She doesn’t need to see his face to know he is still grinning. “The only way you can convince me there aren’t feathers under there is to show me, Princess. Until then, you are a swan.”

And then he is gone and the strange thumping in Emma’s heart will not allow her to relax until it is time to prepare for the evening meal.


	8. The Ambush

He’s a bloody idiot who has apparently lost the ability to think rationally.

This whole week has gone wrong at every turn. These royal buffoons are better at gambling than Killian had ever expected; if his last count is correct, he actually lost money these last two nights. Smee’s daily exploration of the castle has yielded little more than pocket change. And Killian has only filched some silverware and three first-edition books from the princess’s private library.

It is that very princess that has been causing all this trouble. If he were a smarter man, Killian would pack up his things tonight, sneak into the royal treasury, steal as much as he can get his hands on, and sail the _Jolly_ far away from Navaria. But this damn princess has gotten under his bloody skin.

Ever since their discussion in the library the day before, he cannot stop thinking about her as the lost Swan Princess. Last night he dreamt of the two of them dancing in the ballroom, the white feathers on her dress fluttering as they spun. When the song was over, she pulled off the veil, and in a whirl of white fabric and puffs of magic, transformed into a swan. She flew off into the night sky, leaving Killian alone. He woke up in a sweat, his heart and stomach twisted into knots.

Killian’s no prince, but he can’t help but feel that he needs to save this princess.

There is a profound loneliness that follows Princess Emma around. She is trapped under her veils and scarves and corsets. It is so obvious to him he wonders why none of the noblemen have brought it up in their games of cards and discussions of the mysterious princess over brandy. Oh, Killian knows enough of noble courting to know that there is little room for honesty between future spouses in the creation of trade agreements and childbearing clauses. He cannot help but feel that he is one of the few men in the castle who actually cares about the princess and what she wants. Since he told her the story of the Swan Princess, or maybe even since she told him she does not seek True Love, he has been strangely bound to this princess and there is a tug on his heart that compels him to save her from self-absorbed suitors.

Today he has made it his task to decide which of the nine nobles will be the best fit for the princess. Sitting in the private dining room, waiting for the host family to arrive for the evening meal, Killian surveys the other men. Janshai and Xander are too slick for their own good. Killian knows they are the type to each have a mistress at home waiting for them. Marcus and Geoffrey are tough guys, the kind of men that Killian would happily accept into his crew. They are both rumored to be excellent fighters, if a bit daft. Lief and Claud have not been seen apart from one another in the last three days and Killian suspects that the blonde princess is most definitely _not_ their type. George is a rude snob. If Princess Emma has anything under that veil less than perfection, he can’t imagine that George would react kindly.

Leonardo and Terryn are Killian’s personal choices. Neither of them are incredibly bright, but neither are they cruel. They are the safe choices. Navaria is used to a queen running them. Regina did it on her own for several years and no one denies that Snow White exerts more political control than her husband. Princess Emma is in no desperate need for a king to rule for her. Five minutes with her proves that beyond a shadow of a doubt. She has been looking for a father for her children. The way that Leonardo talks about his younger sister and Terryn jokes about his hunting dogs displays that they would be excellent parents.

Exactly what the princess needs for her prince.

Perhaps he can sneak into her private library this evening to give her that very advice. He could steal some more books, maybe have her tell him one of her favorite stories. Killian is just starting to fight away images of sitting on the library couch, Princess Emma tucked into his side, listening to her soothing voice reading him a book, when he hears the thunderous sound of boots flying down the hallway.

With the instincts that have been drilled into him since his first dueling lesson at seven, Killian leaps back from the table, swivels his body towards the door, and pulls his sword out of the sheath. The single motion takes only a second, and it is several seconds faster than most of the other men. Out of the corner of his eye, Killian sees Marcus to his immediate right, knuckles turning white as he clutches his broadsword.

Then the doors burst open and Killian only gets a glance at the dozen hooded soldiers before they fill the room and it all becomes chaos. He easily disarms the first one that attacks him. Killian is not afraid to fight dirty. He knows what it means to fight for you life, to use every last inch of your strength in battle. To duel through tempests and with cannons exploding on every side.

So this? This is easy. He has had two full nights of rest on silken sheets, a full stomach for days, the room is well lit, and he had a few seconds to prepare himself. He knocks out five guards before he realizes that there are only three suitors fighting any longer. Geoffrey is in the corner dueling two soldiers. Before Killian can rush to help, the prince has fallen. The soldiers turn to Marcus, who is clutching his side and breathing heavily. The prince drops his sword and kicks it towards the soldiers, falling to his knees and lifting his hands in defeat.

So much for letting sodding royalty onto the _Jolly_.

Killian looks around at the remaining three soldiers with a cocky smile. He throws out his arms and purrs, “It has been far too boring at the palace this week, gentlemen. I am glad to have your company to liven things up.” He aims the sword at the soldier in the middle, the only one with a helmet. “But I am sorry to say that I cannot allow you to continue ransacking this beautiful castle. Alas, it comes to this.”

The center soldier rushes at him full speed and Killian only has time to register that the other fighters hold back before he and the soldier are battling fiercely. The man is fast and precise. He darts around Killian and gets dangerously close to landing a shot several times. But he fights fair and fights by the book and that is his fatal flaw. Killian feins to the left and when the soldier lunges Killian ducks down to knock his feet out under him. He falls clumsily, armor clattering against the stone floor. Killian places the tip of his sword at the soldier’s throat and kicks away the man’s sword.

And that is when he hears the clapping.

Killian is so startled that, against his instincts, he turns to see Snow White and Charming entering a side door, smiling at him. When he looks down again, his opponent has pulled back the mask, exposing green eyes crinkled in amusement.

_Princess Emma!_

“Swan?” he chokes, immediately pulling his sword away from her vulnerable throat. The accompanying chuckle is all too familiar, confirming his suspicious. He sheaths his sword and reaches down to help her to her feet.

“Excellent job, Prince Charles,” King Charming booms, clapping a hand on Killian’s shoulder.

“Was this some sort of trick? A game?” Killian asks in a daze. The other nobles (the conscience ones that is) look sheepish at their inability to beat the princess in a swordfight. His eyes return to Princess Emma, remembering her cold hands in his and the trembling passion in her voice as she spoke of True Love. “I could have killed you!”

The princess’s eyes go wide. “There was never any danger of that, milord. I know how to fight.”

“And so do I, Swan. I’m a damn good fighter and a bloody dirty one too. I can’t believe that you let me-” He trails off, moving to rub the back of his neck. His spine is tingling in a way that feels alarmingly like the rising tide of hysteria.

“It was just a test, Charles,” her voice is low and her gloved hand grasps his wrist. Her fingers are so elegant, he wonders how he didn’t recognize her by her hands alone. But the thought that he could have hurt her is tempered by the calm of her touch. Her grip tightens and her voice becomes almost a whisper. “Thinking with my head not my heart, you know? Seeing which of these men could actually defend the kingdom.”

Killian finds her hand resting on his wrist and takes it in his own. Composing himself, Killian bows and kisses the back of her hand. “I am honored to have done battle with such a valiant warrior, and I would happily defend your kingdom against evil any day that you wish.”

He has a vivid image of the crew of the _Jolly_ fighting side-by-side with King Charming and cannot help but smile at the idea. Princess Emma senses the change in mood and responds in a lilting, teasing voice. “I will draw up the papers for an alliance with Caldar as soon as possible.”

She claps her hands together smartly, reminding Killian of her mother two days ago, and her soldiers begin helping the fallen royals to their feet and carrying the unconscious royals out of the room. She offers him a small bow. “If you will excuse me, Prince Charles, I must change into something a little easier to eat in. When I return, we shall dine and you shall sit next to me and tell me all about how you learned to fight.” Princess Emma is gone in a flash, leaving Killian quite alone with the Queen and King and three shuffling suitors who all avoid eye contact with Snow and Charming.

“Was this little test your idea, majesty?” Killian inquires, striding towards the table and sitting next to the royal couple.

The queen grins and Killian imagines her smile below the princess’s eyes. The effect would be disarming. “I would love to claim credit for it,” she exchanges glances with her husband, “but this was all Emma. She came up with this idea last night.” Snow’s voice lowers so the men at the other end of the table cannot hear. “We had to talk her down from automatically eliminating any men who were knocked out.”

Killian peeks at the other end of the table. The only men who made it through the attack did so by surrendering: Geoffrey, Xander, and Marcus. “At least the men who were knocked out were fighting,” he growls to himself. “A man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets.” He catches Charming’s eye, and the man gives him an appraising look. The king reaches out and takes the queen’s hand, eyes softening and mouth curling up.

“I couldn’t agree more, Prince Charles.”


	9. The Challenge

Emma closes her eyes, enjoying her mother’s soft fingers massaging her scalp and combing through her hair. The queen chirps excitedly about the royal suitors, but Emma can hardly keep her eyes open. After the excitement of the night before, she had a hard time falling asleep. She spent hours in the library reading a new book, a birthday gift from her Aunt Ruby. A lovely and strange tale called _The Princess Bride_. When she finally drifted off in her chair, she dreamt that she was a farm maiden named Buttercup, the most beautiful woman in the world. Her life was simple.

When she awakes, Emma is a princess again, one with a hideous nose and a castle full of greedy suitors. One whose mother likes to talk about those suitors while doing her daughter’s hair in the morning. Emma concentrates on relaxing her shoulders and drowning out the chatter. Perhaps she can get a few more minutes of sleep before the daily performance starts.

A certain suitor’s name causes Emma’s shoulders to tense again, and Snow’s _hmmmm_ lets Emma know that her mother notices her sudden attention. “That Prince Charles is something else, isn’t he?”

Emma makes a noncommittal sound in the back of her throat, but when she opens her eyes she sees her mama's mirrored reflection give her a disbelieving eyebrow. The queen’s fingers increase in speed and focus, working nimbly to secure Emma’s hair in another elaborate updo. “It has been several years since anyone besides your father disarmed you.”

The princess makes another noise. “That may be because I never duel against anyone besides our soldiers, all of whom are too afraid to harm the mysterious and fragile princess.”

Snow tugs on a curl harder than strictly necessary. “I still saw you knock out no less than four of the noblemen.”

Emma smiles. “Five.”

Her mama hums with satisfaction, although Emma cannot tell if it is because of her daughter’s prowess with a sword or because the updo is complete. Snow’s hands land on Emma’s shoulders and their eyes meet in the mirror. “You like him, don’t you?”

Emma doesn’t have to ask who she is talking about. “I do.”

“He makes you smile.”

She rolls her eyes to distract from the blush that is forming. “How can you tell? I’ve been wearing these damn veils all week.”

Snow squeezes her shoulders. “I don’t have to see your face to know when my daughter is smiling. You couldn’t stop grinning all during dinner last night.”

Emma stands and turns to face her mother, searching the clear eyes. “I could do much worse, don’t you think?”

The queen grimaces. “We have found some real doozies this time. George is starting to drive me insane.” She giggles and Emma can see a flash of the young princess shine through her mama’s gently-lined face. “And I think Claud and Lief have fallen for one another.”

Emma chuckles darkly. “At least someone has found love this week.”

Her mother’s smile dims but does not disappear. “Prince Charles is a good man. He knows how to fight, he makes you smile, and he is down-to-earth.” The smile grows brighter again. “And I have seen the way he looks at you.”

The princess blinks. “How does he look at me?”

Snow takes her daughter’s face in her hands, eyes shining with hope and adoration. “He looks at you as though you are a sparkling jewel, more precious than any treasure this palace holds.”

* * *

 

Slipping food under her veil at meals is the most tedious part of Emma’s birthday week. The time it takes to carefully eat leaves her with little patience for the requisite small talk. Last night Prince Charles made meal time heavenly with his jokes and stories. This morning, he sits between Emma and Terryn, asking the duke to share stories of hunting and growing up an only child. Charles listens attentively, asking Emma if her experiences were similar. Emma cares little for hunting and she knows that her upbringing has been special, to say the least. She wonders why Charles doesn’t talk about himself, his own childhood, and the brother he referred to at the ball.

“Prince Charles,” she interrupts, cutting off another soliloquy about hunting dogs, “would you care to join me for a bit of dueling this morning?” Her voice turns coy. “I would love a rematch.”

Charles looks her in the eye for the first time all morning and she is surprised to find her breath has caught in her throat. The smirk that twists his mouth is positively sinful. “I would love to, Swan. It just wouldn’t do for you to think that yesterday was a fluke.”

She scoffs. “Oh, it most certainly was. I hadn’t been bested in seven years.”

His smirk turns cocky. “I haven’t been bested in ten.”

Emma lifts her knife and teasingly aims it at the prince. “We simply must break that record. I wouldn’t want you to become too full of yourself.”

He leans forward, his whisper brushing the hair from her ear and bringing a deep blush to her face. “Believe me, Swan, I am an expert and I know _exactly_ what to do with my sword.”

Her tongue has grown too large for her mouth and her heart pounds an unsteady tattoo. Is Prince Charles of Caldar flirting with her using a combination of innuendo and violence? Emma is wholly unfamiliar with this world of coarse flirting, stolen kisses, or anything the least bit sexual. She has read book after book about romance and passion. Books that tell of true love and scandalous affairs. But she has never expected a suitor to make her heart beat or her cheeks blush. Charles is the first man to speak to her so frankly.

She swallows and rapidly composes herself. Emma gives him an appraising look and _hmmmms_ in the back of her throat.

“What does that mean, Swan?”

She shrugs and begins working another bite of bacon under her veil. “Just that I thought your work with your sword was a bit sloppy yesterday. No finesse, no focus, and too much flailing about.” She has never told a more obvious lie in her life, but her words have the desired effect. Charles chokes on his toast and stares at her, speechless.

“Don’t think I will go easy on you now that I know you’re a princess, highness.” His eyes narrow and he leans forward again, looking every inch the jungle cat in his dark blue jacket. “Prepare to learn how a _real_ man fights.”

Emma swallows her bite and sits back primly. “I can’t wait.”


	10. The Lesson

“You need to learn how to fight dirty,” Killian barks, holding a sword to the princess’s throat.

She sighs and reaches up her hands to shove his sword away, her breath coming in long pants that shake her body and vibrate his chest, pressed against her back. She quickly turns to face him and glares. It would be much more intimidating if she hadn’t lost spectacularly three rounds in a row.

“I am _trying_ ,” she huffs. “But I am having a little trouble concentrating what with you trying to kill me at every turn.”

Killian rolls his eyes at her melodramatic tone. “Please, Princess, I was much more rough last night.” He realizes the implication of his words and he immediately bites his lower lip. He sheaths his sword and runs a hand through his hair, regaining his composure. “What I mean to say is, I have been working to disarm, rather than kill this morning. Your opponents may not always practice such good form.”

His words echo off the cobblestones of the training area. He has taught young men how to sword fight for years now, but never anyone this accomplished, and never with the peace and privacy of this secluded corner. The other would-be husbands have passed their one-on-one time with Princess Emma in tea parlors and leisurely tennis games. Of course he would be the one that ends up tutoring her on the fine art of dueling. But he doesn't mind. Perhaps he can leave her a stronger future queen than when he first arrived. If only she will shut up and listen to him.

“I am sorry,” she grumbles, wiping beads of sweat off of her forehead. “I’m just used to fighting our kingdom’s soldiers. They take it easy on me. And they’re not so-” she stutters, stumbling over her words.

“So what?” he bites back in exasperation.

“They’re not so handsome,” she spits, glare intensifying.

Killian is thrown for a loop. “Excuse me, love?”

The princess steps forward. “Don’t pretend like you aren’t trying to distract me with you winks and your banter. I’m used to dull knights mechanically dueling. Not someone that flirts with me.”

_Damn. Damn damn damn._

He reaches down to recover her sword. He gently takes her hand and places the sword in it. “I am flirting with you, Swan, because I am pushing you. In the heat of battle, you fight a real person. Someone who has a home and a family and a life. And you cannot let that keep you from defeating them no matter the cost.” He searches her eyes, hoping desperately that his lie will be accepted. That she will not realize that he never even knew he was flirting. She brings out his playfulness, his levity, his sensuality. He finds it hard to control his tongue when in her presence.

Princess Emma looks at him a long moment, not blinking, barely breathing. Killian waits for him to call his bluff. But she only nods shortly, fingers tightening around her sword.

He takes another step forward and reaches for her face. She flinches as though he has threatened her and he pauses. “Trust me, love,” he mutters. He lifts his hands again and she stands still as a statue. He places his right hand over her eyes. “Close your eyes, Swan. Close your eyes and just imagine.”

She relaxes into his touch, and he takes a half a moment to relish the smoothness of her forehead and the wisps of golden hair that tickle the back of his wrist. “I want you to imagine someone you hate. Someone who has hurt you or hurt someone you love.” He hesitates, unsure if he should press her further, but he knows it is necessary. “Perhaps,” he whispers, “the man who broke your heart four years ago.” She tenses again and it is so sudden and violent that Killian has to stop himself from drawing back from her rage.

“That’s it, love,” he praises, “picture him. Picture that bastard standing in front of you with a sword and he has come to hurt you again.” Killian steps back, drawing his sword and preparing to fight. “Open your eyes, Emma, and defeat him.”

Her eyes fly open and they are the dark green of the plant that ripped his brother from him. Killian knows he has awoken something inside of her that is deadly and unstoppable.

She has him on his back in three minutes.

“Bloody brilliant, Swan,” he chuckles from the stone floor. “That’s the ticket. I guess I just had to tap into your pride.”

She offers him a hand and helps him to his feet. “Are you okay?” she squeaks.

“Don’t worry, Princess,” he grunts, massaging his side where he is sure she bruised him, “I’ve survived much worse.”

A furrow appears between her eyes. “How much has a prince had to survive, exactly?”

He turns away before she can see his flustered expression. “I’ve been through a fair amount, your highness.”

She snorts and he cannot but look at her again, just to catch the amusement dancing in her eyes. “That’s enough of that. Please call me Emma, for heaven’s sake. I hate all these damn formalities.”

A lump has formed in his throat and he has no idea why he cannot breathe all of the sudden. “Emma it is,” he replies, voice low and husky.

Emma steps forward, closing the distance he created. “May I call you Charles?” she teases.

“As you wish, Emma.”

And then her eyes are burning holes into his own and his heart is racing and if she weren’t a proper princess who has never left home and if he weren’t the absolute worst person for her… he would suspect that she wants very badly to kiss him.

He finally manages to swallow and turn away and break the spell this bloody vixen’s eyes have been casting on him for days. “How are the suitors shaping up, Emma?” he chokes out, hoping his forced levity doesn't come across as fake as it does to his own ears.

“The usual collection of bastards and idiots,” she replies after a moment, her tone droll. He chances a look back at her and her eyes are crinkled again. “Very few of them are worth my time.”

“Who is the forerunner?”

Emma blinks and steps forward and Killian’s heart stops beating because he knows what she is about to say and it is wrong, _all wrong_.

“-Because I have decided that Terryn is really the perfect man,” he blurts out before she can respond. “Excellent family, great paternal instincts, kind heart, and he knows how to fight.” He forces a smile and the dread is seeping into his veins like thick sludge and he does not know what he is saying or if it is working but it is all he can think to do to keep her away from him.

She blinks again and takes a step back.

“Terryn?”

“Aye,” he nods. “He lit up in your presence at breakfast this morning. I think he really cares for you.”

Her gaze lowers to the floor, tracing the grooves and cracks. “Do any of the other men care for me?”

Killian’s throat constricts and hot tears form in the corners of his eyes and this has all gone so wrong so quickly. “None that deserve you, Swan,” he manages, his tone so low he isn’t even sure she hears it.

He turns to leave because it is dangerous to be here with her, secluded from the palace staff and filled with adrenaline and passion. He picks up his sword and has almost left the training enclosure when he feels her hand on his shoulder, soft and warm and elegant and firm. He stops, but does not turn around. If he were to look in those brilliant green eyes, he does not imagine he could control himself any longer.

“You understand me better than any ridiculous noble who has come traipsing through this palace,” she begins, her voice intense, “but you do not know everything about me, or what I am or what I deserve. And I imagine that you know even less about yourself, and what you deserve. So please, if you care for my happiness, please be honest with me.”

Killian’s heart breaks into a million pieces and all he wants to bloody do is turn around and wrap this Swan Princess in his arms and protect her from this cruel, cruel world that tells her beauty is the only way. But all he lets himself do is take her hand in his, bring it to his mouth, and gently kiss her knuckles. He shouldn’t encourage her, but he does not have it within him to hurt her any further.

“I have vowed to protect you from harm, Princess, and I do not break my promises.” He releases her hand and returns to the castle without looking back.


	11. The Leap

"Daddy, I don't know what to do."

Emma's parents are famous for their perpetual optimism. When she comes to them for advice, it either results in a reflection of their sunny dispositions or nauseating irritation. Tonight, Emma hopes for some of that legendary hope to rub off on her.

For the next forty-five minutes, curled up next to her father with a glass of whiskey firmly grasped in her hands, Emma details everything that has happened between her and Charles: from their discussion in the garden to the afternoon in the library to their dueling lesson that morning. When she is done, Emma’s head rests exhausted on her father’s shoulder. Charming pours more whiskey into the tumbler.

“Its alright, piglet,” he soothes, running his fingers through her hair. “Everything will be alright.”

The corners of Emma's mouth turn up involuntarily at her father’s term of endearment. Snow absolutely _hates_ when Charming calls her “piggy,” “piglet,” or “snort stuff.” The battle to get bacon back in the palace was only successful after her father smuggled slices through a trusted servant, shared them with Emma, and the tiny princess threw a humongous tantrum for more pork products.

But tonight Emma knows her troubles won’t be solved by whining or complaining. Throwing a fit will not make a difference. She will need to face it head-on.

“How did you know Mama was the one?”

Her father’s hand stills before resuming the reassuring movements. “I knew your mama was the one when I saw my mother’s ring on her finger.” He chuckles. “After she stole the ring in the first place, of course.”

It is a story that Emma has heard many times before, of her parents’ True Love. “And what was it about the ring on her finger?” she presses. “How did you know from that?”

“Hmmm,” Charming ponders. “I guess it just felt right. Her wearing my mother’s ring. She fit into my world. She made sense to match my past and usher in my future. Your mama drove me crazy, but she also saved my life and inspired me. I was an idealistic shepherd when your mother met me, playing at being a prince. With her by my side, I became a true prince, and then a king. I could never rule a kingdom without her.”

Her father shifts to pick up his own glass and Emma falls away from his arm, a new wave of thoughts crashing over her. “That’s why you two want me to marry.”

“You don’t need anyone to rule by your side, Emma,” he smiles, taking a sip of his drink. “But you shouldn’t have to do it alone. The life of a ruler is hard. Decisions must be made every day that impact the lives of thousands. Having someone to fall asleep with every night and share your problems with - that is what your mama and I want for you.”

“What do you think of Prince Charles?”

Charming lifts his cup to his lips and hums, obviously stalling for time. “I think he is a good man. He does well in a fight, he has excellent social skills, and he may be the most brilliant royal to come through here in years if he knows he isn’t good enough for my little piggy.”

“Daddy,” Emma rolls her eyes, blushing.

“What?” he teases, pulling her back against his side. “You are an amazing woman, Emma, and you will be a spectacular queen. Sounds to me like Prince Charles was only trying to get you to choose someone else because he understands how fantastic you are. Heaven knows I don’t deserve your mama, but I spent too much time running away from my feelings to allow you to make the mistake of being afraid of your feelings. If you care for him, you must take a leap of faith and tell him how you feel. If he feels the same, he will no longer be able to push you away.” His palm caresses her cheek and tucks her against his chest. “No one has been able to resist you for long, my darling.”

Father and daughter spend several minutes in silence, staring at the fire and basking in the glow of honesty and the rum’s buzz.

And then Emma makes her decision. “Daddy,” she mutters, voice muffled by his embroidered vest, “tomorrow after breakfast send the other suitors away and send Prince Charles to my library.”

His chest vibrates with his suppressed chuckle. “Whatever you want, princess.”

* * *

Princess Emma, future queen of Navaria, struggles to steady her shaking hands and slow the rapid beat of her heart. One day she may lead troops into war or talk diplomacy with other rulers from around the Enchanted Forest. She has been trained to keep a cool head under pressure. She can do this.

Oh, who is she kidding? She is not at all prepared for this.

It is not like last time. It is not like with Prince Baelfire, before that piercing rejection and the years of bitterly putting royal boys through their paces. It is not like last time, when she was not at all prepared for rejection. It is not like last time, because this time it feels real.

It may not be True Love, but it feels an awful lot like love.

Her decision feels more daunting in the light of day, without her father’s liquid courage rushing through her system. When she hears the door to the library open behind her, she takes a final, calming breath before standing to greet Prince Charles.

“Charles, please be seated,” she gestures to the seat next to her, shooting the servant a look to send him away.

The prince sits and Emma thinks she detects a tremor in his own hands. She isn’t sure if the anxiety springs from hope or dread, but it gives her comfort to know she is not wholly alone.

“What can I do for you, Swan?” he smirks.

Emma ignores his question, too wired to deal with small talk. “Have you enjoyed your time in Navaria, Charles? Was your stay at the palace pleasant?”

He nods. “Most pleasant. The food has been divine and the castle is lovely. You have a quaint capital here and I imagine it is a pleasure to live in a kingdom like this.” Though his words are dreadfully diplomatic, the tone is earnest.

“The other day, when you were, uh, surprise attacked,” Emma trips over the words when his smirk grows, “you said something about being bored this week. I wondered if that was-”

“Oh no,” he shakes his head, “I am just used to a little more adventure. I rather enjoyed the opportunity to spar.” He leans forward with a conspiratorial whisper, “I haven’t exactly bonded with too many of these nobles.”

“So it wasn’t because of-” Emma hates how her voice is breaking “because of me?”

He takes her hand and it is the most exciting and most reassuring thing in the world. The warm weight of his fingers wraps around her and she longs to feel the rest of him, pressed against her, drawing heat and strength from this strange prince. “No,” he says, his voice low with feeling and eyes burning. “I was never, for a minute, bored by you. And whatever happens, dear Swan Princess, I do not want you to ever think that you are anything less than perfect.”

His speech feels like a goodbye. But all Emma wants is a promise of a future.

“Charles,” she begins, gathering her final scraps of courage. “I want you to stay here at the palace. As my husband.” He opens his mouth to respond but she throws up her free hand, begging him with her eyes to let her finish. “I do not know if you feel anything more than friendship for me, but I enjoy your company and I think we could be good together. If you will have me, I will do whatever is necessary to make this a mutually beneficial arrangement. You are -” she falters, feeling her strength dwindling, “you are the only one who has been honest with me from the start. And so I shall be honest with you before I ask you to give me your answer.”

Princess Emma of Navaria reaches up and, with a swift motion, removes her scarf and shows her face to Prince Charles of Caldar.


	12. The Truth

Killian never actually thought that she had feathers under her veils.

He’s not an idiot.

The times when he would imagine what she was hiding, when he would stare and picture cheeks and a nose and lips under the fabric, he figured she was ugly. Someone years ago had decided that all princess had to be beautiful, and maybe she got caught in the middle of that. With such handsome parents, she may have been a little plain, felt intimidated, and decided to cover up her face from shame. Or maybe, he figured, she was really, _really_ ugly. Large and diseased teeth. Oversized, warty nose. A face marked by pox. Something that would make children tease and adults shrink back.

And when King Charming tells Killian his daughter requests his presence in her library this morning, he has an idea of what is to happen. He gathers that she has been feeling affectionate for him, perhaps drawn in by his rustic charms. Nothing serious, just a girlish crush. Something that he can gently let her down from.

He never imagines she will reveal her face.

And he never guesses what it looks like.

She is stunning. She is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen, and as the morning sun streams through the windows, it caresses her golden hair and pale yellow skin. She is glowing, sparkling, like a perfect golden coin. She is worth all the riches he shall ever see and her eyes hold an emerald treasure that reveals the truth in a flash.

She loves him.

Her lips are soft, begging to be kissed and nibbled and teased. The apples of her cheeks are full and smooth. But it is her nose, resting in the middle of her face, that he knows to be the reason for all the veils and scarves and hiding.

It is a pig’s nose.

Killian has seen some ugly noses in his time and some noses he would easily describe as “beaky”, “snout-like”, or “horsey.” But this is literally a pig’s nose on a princess’s face. It is striking and odd and in no way matches the noses of either of her parents. It should be out of place. But Killian is almost unsurprised to find it beneath the veil. For only something that strange would be the reason for the secrecy. And that nose, which should draw him back, makes him lean forward.

She wears it proudly.

Emma looks at him with pride for who she is and what she looks like and Killian has never been more in awe of anyone in his life. He reaches out to touch her face, to caress this nose that has caused her so much anguish, to tell her that she is beautiful no matter what and a nose does not define her. He wants to reassure her that the nose does not matter.

His hand is inches away from her face when he suddenly realizes what this feeling is squeezing his heart and twisting his stomach.

He loves her.

He pulls away as if she has a shield protecting her skin.

He can’t do this. He can’t lie to her any longer.

It is her words about honesty that ring through him now. Her praises for how he has only told the truth, when he has in fact only lied. He is a pirate. A dirty, common pirate who doesn’t deserve to be in her presence, much less her heart. There is no way that a criminal can marry the princess, no matter how much he may love her.

He opens his mouth to explain, to tell her everything and why he cannot accept her proposal, but she is already drawing away from him, her eyes cold and lips curled in disgust. Emma yanks the scarf back around her face, shielding herself from his view.

“Get. Out.” Her voice is frigid.

“Emma. Let me explain,” he pleads, already regretting not touching her. He has lost his chance. “You don’t understand.”

She flies to her feet and shouts, “Guards! Escort Prince Charles out of my castle.” Her gaze meets his and it chills him to the bone. “No need to explain, Prince Charles, that will be enough.”

Footsteps grow heavy down the hallway and Killian knows he only has seconds before he is forced away. “Emma, please. Please listen to me.” But then his arms are being seized and his Swan Princess is turning away and he is taken from her forever.

* * *

When he exits the castle, Killian looks back and counts windows, searching for her library. He thinks he may catch a glimpse of gold in one of them, but it must be dumb hope.

He makes his way slowly towards the docks. He is not in any hurry. The crew is off for another two days. Smee, the little rat, won’t get the news of his departure for at least another ten minutes, and it will take time to gather Killian’s princely wardrobe and their meagre treasures. Smee will make it back to the _Jolly Roger_ eventually. It doesn’t matter, not really. There is nothing important left in the castle, nothing important besides her.

Killian plans to get rip-roaring drunk tonight. Completely pissed. And maybe the next night too. As soon as possible, he will return to the sea and the _Jolly_ will tend to all of the fresh wounds on his heart. She will make him forget his foolishness and he will sail far, far away to a place where no one has ever heard of the mysterious Princess Emma of Navaria.


	13. The World

With her mother patting her hand on her right and her father combing her hair on her left, Emma has never felt the strength her parents’ affection more.

Emma has been in a state of shock since Prince Charles was escorted from her sight. Showing him her face was the height of foolishness.

At first his eyes had widened and Emma had almost smiled despite her pounding heart. It had been so long since anyone new had seen her face and she had taken a little delight in surprising the talkative prince into silence. Then he had blinked and drank her in with his eyes, scanning her cheeks and her lips and that damn nose. His hand reached forward and her heart stopped beating, terrified and terrified to hope that this time it would be different...

Then his fingers drew back and his sapphire eyes closed off and his lips pursed and his brows knit and that was enough for Emma.

As the guards rushed into the room his blue eyes pleaded with her to listen but it was too late. Her heart had already shattered, cold and razor sharp on the floor, and the only thing she could do was make him leave and stop herself from feeling anything. 

_Of course he had looked at her like that. Of course he had pulled away. She is a grotesque creature, not fit for romantic love or deeper affection._

And when hot tears begin to pour down her face, Emma realizes that she has entered the self-loathing stage of grief.

Snow quickly moves to wipe Emma’s face and Emma curls into a ball, resting her head on her mama’s shoulder and finally letting her pain out.

Twenty minutes later, when Emma has run out of tears and her throat burns, she finally sits up and tucks her drenched curls behind her ears. “What makes it worse,” she chokes out, “is that I thought he might actually care. There was a moment… there was a moment when he looked at me and I thought he might actually love me back.”

She can feel her parents exchange a look over her head, but only her mother responds. “Love?”

Emma nods dumbly. “I think so.”

“Oh, piglet,” her father soothes, voice thick with sympathy. For once, Snow lets him use the term of endearment. “I’m so sorry.”

The princess shakes her head, her anger suddenly returning. “No, he’s the one that should be sorry.”

Snow’s hand returns to Emma’s arm. “He won’t even know to be sorry, sweetie. With that memory potion, it is like the last week never happened.”

“Actually,” Emma begins, and she can feel her parents sharing a look again, “I didn’t give him a memory potion.”

“Excuse me?” Charming asks, his tone more than a little concerned.

“I didn’t give him the memory potion.”

“Emma, why not?” her mother explodes.

“Because I am through with hiding!” Emma is on her feet, pacing around her room. The presence of her parents now feels stifling and she just wants them to leave, dammit. “I am done wearing these fucking scarves and veils and making everyone think I am some beautiful mystery or something. I don’t want to hide anymore. I am through with this.” She takes a deep breath, finally ready to tell her parents what she has been thinking for ages, “For twenty-five years we have been letting Regina win. It is time to stop that and let me live outside of these palace walls.”

Two days later, Princess Emma of Navaria steps onto the castle balcony and greets her people face-to-face for the first time in her life. After a long, tense moment of silence, cheers erupt throughout the capitol square.

Snow and Charming commission a portrait of their daughter’s uncovered face. Copies are sent to kingdoms near and far along with stories of her brilliance, bravery, and boldness. Emma makes sure to send an extra-large painting to the distant kingdom of Caldar. When the portraits are received, the legend of Princess Emma grows to mythological proportions. Speculative tales are wildly woven of how a princess could come to bear the nose of a pig. They range from the quaint to the crude, and Emma cackles over every one of them.

Emma has never felt so alive, now that she can go outside of the palace. She finally learns firsthand about her country, starting with the capitol city, exploring its small shops and meeting its kind-hearted people. Slowly, over the course of the next three months, she roams across the rest of Navaria, falling in love with every square inch.

For the six months after that, she accepts invitations to visit royals from all over the Enchanted Forest. Some are the families of her former suitors, perhaps still salivating over an opportunity to be united to her kingdom. Emma cares little for their pitiful attempts to rekindle imagined romances. She smiles and flirts and diplomatically rejects every one of them.

While she is gone, she spends a single night crying when she hears news of Tesouro and Philioque declaring war on Sharrva. Memories come rushing back of soft blue eyes and cocky smirks and the feeling of the prince’s body pressed against hers in the garden and in the training courtyard. For the first time since he left her she allows herself to imagine what would have happened if she had given him a chance to explain himself. What would he have said? Could she have forgiven him for finding her repulsive? They could be planning the wedding right now and preparing to spend their lives together.

But then it would be _him_ visiting other royalty and building relationships. And she would still be behind the palace walls.

The next morning Emma cleans her tear-stained face, reminds herself how much she loves being free, and packs up her things to head home again.

When she arrives, Emma finds two surprises awaiting her.

The first is a painting of herself, huge and stunning in a stark-white dress wearing feathers on her shoulders. There is a note accompanying the portrait letting Princess Emma know that the royal navy has searched all over the Enchanted Forest but heard nothing of a Kingdom of Caldar, especially not one with an excellent navy.

So Prince Charles was a liar. Perhaps an imposter. How did he make his way into her birthday ball and how was he not discovered until now? Emma’s curiosity is piqued and she starts to consider commissioning a small portrait of Charles to be circulated by her navy so they can discern his identity.

And she would have done this if not for the second surprise.

“Prince Baelfire!” she starts, hand over her heart at the sight that greets her in the private dining room.

“Princess Emma,” he bows low, his mop of curly hair nearly touching the ground. “So good to see you again.” But when he stands straight, and his eyes meet her face, she can plainly read the revulsion on his face and the hesitation in his gaze. No, Baelfire is not at all happy to see her.

“Again?” she inquires. “I didn’t think that you had ever seen me before, Prince Baelfire. At least not that you remember.”

“Well, when I returned home almost five years ago without memories of my week at the palace, my father assumed that I had seen something I oughtn’t. When we received news of your, erm, visage, he put two and two together. Am I correct in assuming you revealed your face to me all those years ago?”

Emma can only nod.

“Good to know. If you did so, we must have grown rather close in our time together.”

Emma nods again.

“Then I hope that familiarity will become a factor in my proposal.”

“Proposal?” Emma finally finds her voice, although it is not as steady as she would like.

Prince Baelfire of Tesouro takes four steps forward and drops to a knee. “Princess Emma of Navaria, will you marry me?


	14. The Fallout

Killian is so drunk he can barely see straight when he hears the rumor. Some blonde woman is perched on his lap, looking something like what he had imagined Princess Emma to look like. She and her friend gossip like mad. If Killian were sober, he would be soaking up the news of nobles and merchants: information that could prove useful during his time in in the capitol. But he doesn’t care any more. Nothing matters, not since the princess threw him out two days prior. Tomorrow his men are due back at the _Jolly Roger_ and they will set sail with the dawn and he will never again come to Navaria.

But when he hears her name he knows that the departure will be delayed.

“Prisses Erma?” he slurs, “washhe doin’?”

The blonde laughs and kisses him on the cheek. “Captain, perhaps we need to find you a room for the night.” The look she gives him suggests that she would very much like to offer her own room, but Killian unceremoniously shoves him off of his lap and reaches for his sword.

“Tell me, wench.” He belches for good measure.

Her friend jumps in. “There are rumors that Princess Emma will appear on the castle balcony tomorrow and finally greet her people.”

“What do you think she looks like?” the wench asks, but Killian has heard enough. He stumbles back to the _Jolly_ and, before passing out on his bunk, threatens Smee with death if he is not woken up at dawn.

So Killian is there when Princess Emma appears before her people. When she steps out onto the balcony in a crimson gown. He watches her lift that proud chin and wait for the reactions of country. And he rests his hand on his sword, vowing to slaughter every one of them if they turn on his Swan.

Killian is there when the Kingdom of Navaria bursts into applause. He hears the quiet cheers of “Long live Princess Emma!” He sees the surprise on the faces of her people. And he finally gets to witness her smile. As he always imagined, it is a dazzling thing to behold. His heart twists at the realization that she will never smile at him like that, but immediately soothed that she is now free to smile as often and openly as she pleases.

He sets sail that afternoon.

The pirate has no set destination. He and the crew sail aimlessly for months, pillaging and stealing and getting drunk as often as possible. The year is halfway gone before he realizes that he has been avoiding the ships that bear the seal of Navaria. In a two-week frenzy, he steals from ship after Navarian ship. He drowns himself with the fabrics and spices and scents of the country. Killian falls asleep every night dreaming of her eyes and her lips and, yes, even that nose.

The final Navarian ship he steals from is from the Navarian navy.

On it, he finds a large portrait of the princess, pig nose and all. She is sitting in that library she loves, wearing a deep green gown. She has been painted to look severe and commanding, the perfect future queen. But he can see traces of the mirth he loves so dearly and remembers the feeling of her hands, depicted holding open a book, gently held in his own hands.

His men take food, water, and other supplies. Killian only takes the portrait and the accompanying letter that lists Princess Emma’s many virtues. The painting goes up in his quarters and he wears the paper thin on the letter, memorizing it in only a few hours. The celebration of his Swan doesn’t detail how she snorts when she is amused (which he now realizes is done on purpose), how she plays with the food on her plate, or how she may be the most practical person he has ever met in his life.

Killian gets ridiculously drunk that night. He drinks more rum than he has in years and finds himself on his knees late into the night, crying at the foot of her portrait on his cabin wall. Tears pour down his face and he chokes out his apologies. As if she could hear him, he tells her how sorry he is for going to the party in the first place, for lying and pretending to be someone he is not, for only wanting to steal jewels. And now, months and miles away, for selfishly wishing that he would have said yes to her that morning.

How dare he even imagine a possibility of marrying a princess.

He is desperately in love with her and it makes his heart unable to function. Years ago Milah slipped out of his bed at night, leaving a delicate gold necklace and a note ( _I’m sorry, Killian, but I have responsibilities to return to_ ) and his heart in pieces. But this is a love that he has never known. With Milah, he was running away and chasing foolish dreams of anarchy and piracy. Emma is the first woman that has made him want to remain onshore. The first woman that has reminded him of his upbringing and the sense of honor instilled in him from his birth. And Killian feels all the more disgusting, knowing that the entire time with Emma he was pretending to be something that he could never be.

The air that whips at the sails begins to cool and Killian is surprised one day to realize that it is almost time for Princess Emma’s 26th birthday. In a fit of masochism, he makes inquiries about her the next time they land.

“Princess Emma of Navaria?” the old barkeep wheezes, wiping the counter with a filthy rag. “The one with the pig nose?” Killian has to ball his hands into fists to keep from punching the man. He manages to nod tersely. “I hear Prince Baelfire of Tesouro has been a guest at the palace for months. Rumors going around they’ll announce their engagement at her birthday ball next week.”

Killian’s head swims with this startling information. Emma engaged to Prince Baelfire? He blinks several times to absorb the news. “Prince Baelfire you say?” he presses. “He’s a guest at the castle?”

The man shrugs. “Rumor has it. Wouldn’t know for myself, not being invited to any royal dinner parties.” He gives Killian a toothless grin, his mirth lost on the captain. Killian tosses a few coins on the counter for the cheap rum and the earth shattering information and takes off right away for his ship.

Three days later the _Jolly Roger_ returns to Navaria after nearly a year’s leave. Killian rushes onto the docks and makes straight for the tavern. He had sent his message ahead over land and it should have arrived in the other party’s hands by now. Tucking his black cloak tighter against his face, he goes right back to the private room he knows the other person secured. This conversation is not one for public ears, and his partner for the evening is one who would prefer discretion at all costs.

As soon as he slips into the private room the other person jumps up. “Killian!” He exclaims, sweeping the captain into a hug, “It has been far too long!”

Killian pats him on the back and pulls away, unable to stop a crooked smile from forming at the sight of his childhood friend. “Bae. So glad you got my message.”


	15. The Friends

“I have to admit, Killian, I never thought I’d see you again,” Baelfire smirks when the two of them have sat down with their bottle of rum and two cups. “Not after the exit you made from the kingdom.”

Killian grunts and pours himself a healthy amount of rum. “Can’t help it if your father is  a wanker, mate.”

Bae clears his throat and drops his gaze, voice low and apologetic. “I can’t help that either, man. You know that, right?”

Killian nods. “I know. But after what your father did - after he sent us on that mission and lied to my brother, after Liam cut himself with a plant that was supposed to heal but only killed-” Killian sighs, “I couldn’t be loyal to a king like that.”

“There wasn’t anything I could do,” Bae replies, grimacing at Killian’s reminder of Liam and pouring himself some rum. “I just have to wait for that asshole to die and my sister to take the throne.”

A silence hangs awkwardly in the room. Killian scratches behind his ear and avoids Bae’s eyes. “How is Milah?”

“She’s fine.” Killian chances a look at the prince. His mouth is set into a tight line but his eyes hold no malice. “It wasn’t easy for her to leave you but it was the right thing to do.”

Killian shakes his head. “I still can’t believe she chased after me. Dunno how she found us when your father’s best naval ships were unsuccessful.”

“Milah’s always been smart like that,” Bae smiles crookedly at the thought and Killian can remember the three of them getting in all sorts of shenanigans in their youth, running around the castle. “And she’s always had a connection to you.” Other images flash in Killian’s mind, dancing with Milah at balls and stealing kisses in the stables. “In fact, I’m more surprised she came back.”

“She’s the crown princess,” Killian mutters. “Of course she went back. Wouldn’t do to run away forever with the kingdom’s greatest outlaw.”

“You didn’t have to be,” Bae says. “Father would have let her marry Earl Killian Jones.”

Killian chuckles darkly, downing the rest of his glass and pouring another one. “Is our chateau even there any longer? I had assumed your father would raze it to the ground as soon as I left the kingdom.”

Bae shakes his head. “No, the crown just confiscated the property. If you want to come home some day I’d be happy to give it back to you, Killian.” The prince’s eyes are as sweet as they have ever been. “I know it doesn’t make up for Liam’s death, but you could return home. You could be an earl again. You don’t have to be an enemy of the kingdom.”

The captain claps Bae’s shoulder. “I’ll keep that in mind when your old man finally snuffs out. Until then, the pirate’s life for me.” He clinks glasses with Bae and the two drink again.

“What brings you here, Killian?” Bae asks after a few minutes. “I didn’t figure you’d risk showing your face to me unless it was something important.”

Killian takes a deep breath. “I heard you are about to be betrothed to Princess Emma. Congratulations are in order.”

The prince smiles. “Is that what the gossip says?”

“It is. Is it not true?”

Bae drinks from his glass. “Not sure yet. The porcine princess has yet to give me a straight answer.”

Killian’s hand tightens around his mug at Bae’s flippant joke but works to keep his face impassive. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” Bae starts, “about five years ago I came out here for Princess Emma’s 21st birthday and spent a week in the castle. Except I don’t remember a moment of it. When she started sending portraits of her face far and wide, Father and I figured I must have gotten a glimpse of the little piggy’s face and they wanted me to forget. He sent me here a few months ago to renew my friendship with the princess and woo her into submission. She’s been coy with me, but I have gotten her to promise that she will either announce our engagement at her birthday ball tomorrow night or risk her kingdom’s relationship with Tesouro.”

“Sounds like your father is as ruthless as ever, mate,” Killian manages to keep his tone steady. “Do you even like the princess?”

Bae shrugs. “She’s fine. That face is not something I would want to see in bed in the morning, but that’s why separate bedchambers were created. All we’d have to do is make a couple of heirs and I could spend the rest of my days looking for adventure.” He grins. “I hear there are some impressive mountains to the north of here. I would love to climb some of them and see what I could find.”

“So no love for her highness, then?” Killian chokes out, knowing that he sounds much less nonchalant than he would like. Clueless Bae only rolls his eyes.

“Face aside, she’s not really my type, Kills.” Bae bumps his shoulder against Killian’s, causing the rum in his glass to splash up out onto the table. “She’s hard headed and set in her ways. I like a woman that’s a little more malleable. Someone I can mold. I wouldn’t pick her hog-ness if I had my choice, but I’m under Father’s orders. So I suppose I’m stuck.”

Killian has heard enough. Although he loves Bae deeply, he lost all respect for the prince years ago. Despite his protests, Bae and his sister Milah could have risen up against their father years ago and exposed his acts of treachery. At least Milah did something, even if she eventually returned home. Foolish Baelfire will live the rest of his days thinking that he has as much backbone as his father and never realizing that he is just another puppet. Killian almost feels sorry for the man.

The realization that Bae was the one who broke Emma's heart all those years ago is another knife in his heart. How could he do that? How could he hurt someone as kind and brave and selfless as Emma? And now that Bae is living at the castle he has no idea how lucky he is to see Emma every single day.

Killian has spent the last year trying and desperately failing to forget the princess. She is no longer his responsibility (not that she has ever been.) But he cannot allow this. He knows the tricks that Bae has for lying and persuading. Killian would not be able to live with himself if he didn’t warn Emma that Baelfire doesn't love her. There’s no way around it: Killian has to get himself into another royal ball.

***

Killian pants and rubs his sore arms. These walls are impossible to climb. After last year’s disastrous exit from the castle, there’s no way he wouldn’t be recognized by the guards at tonight’s ball, even if he could steal himself another invitation. But the walls are much too tall and severely lacking in footholds. He runs his hand through his hair and draws back, ready to take another flying leap.

A high-pitched giggle surprises him before he can move forward. “Aren’t you tired yet, dearie?” a voice calls. Killian looks up to see a small man with scaly skin perched on the wall, legs crossed and smile wide across his face.

“How did you get up there?” Killian demands. “I have been trying for nearly a quarter of an hour.”

The man only giggles again. “Oh, I know you have and it has been very entertaining.” In a puff of burgundy smoke the man disappears and reappears at Killian’s side. “But maybe it is time to ask for a little help.”

Killian draws his sword, narrowing his eyes. “Who are you?”

The small man sweeps into an elaborate bow and smile again at Killian, his teeth pointy and reminding Killian of a crocodile. “Rumpelstiltskin, at your service.”

“The Dark One? What do you want with me?”

Scaly fingertips meet at Rumpelstiltskin’s chest level and the moonlight glints against his skin, revealing the glittering gold tone. “It isn’t what I want with you, it is what I want you to _do_ ,” he replies, still smiling mysteriously.

“And what is that?”

He throws his hands out with a flourish and giggles again. “Why, I want you to stop the wedding announcement, of course!”

Killian eyes him suspiciously. “Why would that be?”

The Dark One vanishes again and returns at Killian’s other side. “Let’s just say that I am not fond of the King of Tesouro and I would like to see him quite disgruntled.”

“Are you offering to help me get in the palace?” Killian asks, gesturing at the high walls. “Because I have been having some difficulty.”

With a wave of his hand, Rumpelstiltskin makes a doorway appear. “No problem at all, dearie. No problem.”

Still eyeing the man suspiciously, Killian takes a step forward before he is cut off by a glittering arm. “One more thing, Lord Jones.” Killian starts, realizing that this man knows of his noble heritage. But he doesn’t get the chance to respond before his vision is clouded by dark red puffs of magic. When it evaporates, Killian is wearing a whole new outfit. The Dark One smiles. “Wouldn’t want you going to a party looking underdressed,” the man giggles. “Now go ahead, Captain,” Rumpelstiltskin gestures. “Your princess awaits."

As Killian closes the magic door behind him, he thinks he hears the man squeal one more instruction, something about not being afraid to kiss the princess. But Killian cannot be sure and when he turns around, there is no sign that a door ever existed.


	16. The Ball

Her 26th birthday ball is the first one sans veils and sans suitors and Princess Emma of Navaria is determined to have a fantastic evening.

All the nobles of the kingdom are invited, as well as the friends that Emma has made in her sixth-month journey to nearby kingdoms. She has bonded with other princesses and has greatly enjoyed welcoming the laughing, fun-loving women to the palace. It is a breath of fresh air after five years of stuffy suitors and every night this week has been filled with discussions of gowns and fashion and hair and lovers. For the first time Emma can relax and actually enjoy her birthday ball.

To honor the occasion, this year’s ball is a masked menagerie theme. Everyone has come in costumes, disguised as a different animal. Emma floats around the ballroom in a light pink gown covered in ruffles and curls of fabric, her specially-made pink tiara glittering with a triangle on either side of her head. With her cursed nose revealed, Emma is clearly dressed as a pig. She loves really mingling at the ball and greeting her guests and subjects by wriggling her nose and oinking.

Never let it be said that Emma doesn’t have a sense of humor about her face.

The visiting princesses have been outfitted as a chicken, a cow, a horse, a goat, and a lamb, and when they congregate in the corner to giggle and down glasses of champagne they make quite the barnyard gathering.

“Princess Emma,” Prince Baelfire appears at her side with a sweeping bow. He requested to be costumed as a bear for the evening. His brown coat has been trimmed with fur and rounded fabric ears sit atop his brown curls. The effect is pleasing to the eye, and not for the first time Emma admires the handsome royal. She is not completely immune to the man’s charms, though she has kept him at arm’s length during his stay at the palace.

She curtsies. “Prince Baelfire.”

“Would you care to dance?”

She accepts because it is polite. As they make their way to the floor, she catches sight of her parents and the disapproving looks on their faces. The king and queen were not happy to see the prince of Tesouro arrive unannounced. They were even more displeased when he announced his intentions to be wed to their daughter and no memory of the day he broke her heart by jumping out a window. Late at night, when Emma comes to their chambers to seek counsel on how to deal with the insistent prince, they have unequivocally voice their distrust.

Yet Emma has continued to give Baelfire vague answers. She knows the risks of angering the king of Tesouro. And she continues to be practical about her need for a royal husband. Prince Baelfire is the only man to seek after her with such persistence. And though he cannot look at her face without grimacing, and she no longer feels the fresh flutters of affection from five years ago, Prince Baelfire comes from good stock. His mother was hailed as a powerful queen and she appears to have passed her good sense on to Princess Milah, who has been praised near and far. Emma has yet to meet the crown princess, but Prince Baelfire has told her many stories of their fun as children and the wisdom she will show as the future Queen of Tesouro.

When the dance finishes, Prince Baelfire offers her another bow and, taking her hand in his, lifts it to his lips and kisses her knuckles. With a jolt, Emma remembers another day. A dance of swords and passion. A hand upon her brow and a voice urging her to think of this very prince. And that same hand, wrapped around hers, kissing her knuckle and sending tingles down her spine.

Emma curtsies. “If you will excuse me, your highness. I need to get some fresh air.” Before Prince Baelfire can offer his unwelcome company, Emma sweeps away and steps out onto the balcony.

She leans against the rail and takes deep gulps of the crisp nighttime air. The ball had been immensely fun but now all she wants to do is run. To be away from the crowd. To hurry up to her library and lose herself in a book that will make her forget another prince who left her alone.

“Your highness.” The voice is low and soft and urgent and it is familiar but Emma cannot quite place it. She turns to find someone else is leaning against the rail. He is dressed all in black: leather trousers and a midnight coat covered in hundreds of black feathers. The top of his face is obscured by a mask, covered in feathers as well, and his eyes are rimmed in kohl.

He is a black swan.

Her realization about his costume strikes her before she gets a look in his icy-blue orbs and by the time they make eye contact she knows who it is.

“Charles,” she chokes out. _Did her thoughts summon him?_

He inhales sharply as if her word has pained him and steps forward to take a hold of her hand. “Emma,” his voice is still low and she senses an edge of desperation. “I must talk to you.”

But all of her excitement and relief and the twist in her stomach when he takes her hand disappears immediately. She steps away and glares. “We do not have anything to talk about, your highness.”

“Swan,” he pleads, “please, there is something that you need to know.”

“If you will kindly let me go,” she hisses, “I have a party to return to.”

Charles takes her hand again. “One dance, Emma. That’s all I ask for. One dance to explain myself.”

Her head tells her to refuse and to get the guards, but her heart… her heart strangely calls out to the prince in black. Her heart wants to hear what he has to say and is more than willing to forgive him for hurting her. _He came back_ it cries. Emma nods and before she can say anything else he is pulling her into the ballroom and onto the dance floor.

Emma can feel the tension radiate out from him as they begin the dance. His nerves increase hers, though she knows not why he is so concerned. “Why did you return?” she asks, wanting to get straight to the point.

“I returned to warn you about Prince Baelfire,” he says in a low voice, looking away for a moment to dart his eyes to the corner that Prince Baelfire has been in all night. “He does not love you.”

She snorts, gathering together a courage she does not feel. “That is why you returned? To tell me something I already knew?”

His eyes widen. “You knew the prince did you love you?”

“Of course I did.” Her eyes turn to Prince Baelfire as well, taking stock of the set of his jaw and the boredom on his brow. “He cannot stand the sight of me.”

“He’s a bloody idiot,” Charles growls, and the anger in his voice draws Emma’s attention once again. She is surprised to realize that the prince in black is not looking at her with the disgust most exhibit. He looks at her with something akin to admiration and, if she didn’t know better, what she would call reverence. Confused, Emma frantically tries to recall the look on his face that morning, almost a year ago, when she pulled her veil off. This is the look he gave her, after his initial shock. But then it had transformed to something else, something like fear. Why on earth would he fear her if he did not see her as something ugly and disgusting and less than human? Her head spins in confusion.

“Well,” she sighs, trying to gather together her faculties, “he is the _bloody idiot_ that wants to marry me. That’s more than I can say for other royals I know.”

Charles scoffs. “You can do much better than Prince Baelfire. At least choose someone that you have affection for.”

“Like you?” she replies coolly.

His response is immediate. His grip tightens and his shoulders slump. The look in his eyes has become immeasurably sad and the corners of his mouth turn down. “Of course not,” he mutters, “I am not fit for you to marry.”

She plants her feet firmly on the ballroom floor, unwilling to dance any longer. “Because you are not who you say you are?”

His eyes widen again, comically so. “You know?” he stutters, squeezing her hand and she watches in a daze as his Adam’s apple bobs.

“I know there is no kingdom of Caldar. What I do not know is who you are and why you came to my 25th birthday ball.” She licks her lips and tries to stay focused on this surreal moment. “So who are you?”

He takes another step closer. “My name is Killian Jones,” he whispers, “and I am a-”

“Pirate.”

His long lashes flutter. “You have heard of me?”

Emma cannot help but smile at the wonder in his tone. “I am a collector of stories, Captain. When Prince Baelfire discovered this, he did all he could to woo me with tales of his childhood and of the kingdom of Tesouro. You played a part in many of his stories, from your youth together to your betrayal of the kingdom and running away with the crown princess." She raises an eyebrow and hopes it conveys an ease she hardly feels. "Do you make it a habit to woo future queens?”

“I am a man of honor,” he spits, anger and pride coming in full-force. “I loved Milah for many years and I would have done whatever was necessary to make the kingdom a better place.”

“And what about me?” Emma hisses, all her nerves and pain spilling over. She takes another step closer, feeling the adrenaline flow through her veins, along with her own anger and pride. “Was I just a plaything? A ridiculous princess to steal gold from?”

He closes his eyes and when he opens them again she sees so much pain it makes it hard to breathe. The pirate’s face is inches away from her own and he takes up her entire line of vision; he has become her whole world. She knows in her heart that he is hurting beyond belief. He releases her hand, still held aloft from the dance, and places it gently on her face. She cannot help but flinch at his touch. Only her parents have run their fingers along her cheek. But he is undaunted and after a moment she presses her skin closer to his, relishing in the simple pleasure of being touched.

He rubs a calloused thumb along the apple of her cheek. “Yes,” he replies simply, voice still laced with pain. “At first you were just a mark, just someone to steal from.” Before she can pull away and keep him from seeing the tears that threaten to overflow he lets go of her waist and now cups her face in both hands, refusing to let her move. “But then I fell in love with you and I wanted to protect you however I could. I tried to teach you how to duel so you could protect yourself and I tried to push you into the arms of a prince who would care for you and care for your future children.”

“You- you loved me?” she chokes out. He smiles again and it is the breaking of the sun on a new day.

“I love you so much, Swan,” he tells her, a tear falling down his cheek, “that I had to refuse you so you wouldn’t make the mistake of marrying me. Because a pirate has no place with a princess. If I had stayed I only would have brought down your kingdom and angered Tesouro.”

“And yet you returned?”

His fingers catch a tear and he smiles, sad and lost in love. “I returned because every night I fell asleep dreaming of your face and I had to see you again. I had to make sure you would be alright. And when I heard that Bae was to be your husband, I wanted to make sure that he cared for you.”

“He doesn’t,” Emma whispers. “I know he doesn’t.”

“And how do you feel?” the pirate questions. “Do you love Prince Baelfire? Or Prince Terryn? Or-” he swallows, “any of these other nobles?”

She softly shakes her head. “No.” His deep blue eyes are piercing her heart, giving her strength and courage she has never felt before. Emma takes a deep breath and lays all her cards on the table. “I only love you, Killian.”

She cannot be sure if it is her admission or his name falling from her lips that makes him smile, but it is dazzling to behold. The tension leaves his body instantaneously. “Oh, Emma,” he quietly moans, and then he leans forward and captures her lips with his own and they are kissing and it is her _first kiss_ but it is all she never let herself dream it could be. She is lost in the sensation and lost in Killian and lost in  _love_  and then a jolt goes through her and everything goes dark.


	17. The Kiss

Kissing Emma is probably the most idiotic thing that Killian could have possibly done.

He came here to warn her. He came here to protect her. He came here to remind her that she does not need to marry some royal idiot just to please the kingdom.

He did not come here to kiss her.

But seeing the princess again… It is like seeing her for the first time. She is free now, truly free. He can see it in the lightness of her step, in the easy way she laughs with a group of women in the corner of the ballroom, the graceful swoops of her arms as she dances with old men and young nobles. She is lighter than he has ever seen before and his heart has been bursting with pride to see her so at ease.

It would crush his spirit to see that all lost in an affectionless marriage. To see her brought down by the burden of thinking that she is not worthy of real love.

So he kisses her. He kisses her with tenderness and passion, and although he knows that he can never see her after tonight, he wants to leave her with as much of him as he can. He does not kiss her to wound her, but to make it clear to her that she inspires love. Her lips are soft and hesitant under his own. Killian takes command, pressing against her, digging his fingers into her hair and tilting her head to deepen the kiss. When he feels a jolt rush through his body he barely notices, lost in the smell of her and the taste of her and the feeling, for the first time in his life, that he is truly alive.

When he pulls back a fraction of an inch to look at her, his vision is obscured by puffs of crimson magic. Killian’s fingers flex involuntarily against the nape of her neck, fearing for a moment that she is being taken away. But when the smoke disappears she is quite present.

Princess Emma of Navaria has been transformed. Her rose-colored gown has disappeared and been replaced by a dress of the brightest, purest white, covered in hundreds of white feathers. The fabric flows down her body, falling straight from her hips to hug her thighs and flare out below the knee. A long train has appeared and now circles the two of them in the middle of the ballroom. Emma’s hair, in loose waves only moments ago, is now in an elaborate braided updo and where a pink tiara was resting is now a silver circlet made up of delicate, sparkling feathers. She is the Swan Princess of his dreams, come to life before his very eyes.

Killian is so astonished by the wardrobe change and the rush from her lips against his own that it takes him a moment to realize that something else is different.

“Emma!” he gasps, “Your nose! It is gone!”

Her hands leave their place at his hips to rush to her face where she confirms what Killian has only just discovered: somehow, her pig nose has become a normal human nose.

“Emma?” Killian blinks, still confounded, “ _is_ that really you?” With the puffs of magic and a new outfit and a transformed nose Killian is beginning to wonder if his princess was transported somewhere else. But then her green eyes meet his over her fingertips and the sparkling jade is home itself. “Swan,” he breathes in relief.

“I’m still me,” Emma whispers. She pulls away her hands and he gets another look at her nose. He has only recently become accustomed to seeing her entire face, staring at her portrait on his cabin wall night after night. Seeing a new nose, as pretty as it may be, is disconcerting.

“Emma!” Two voices ring out from across the ballroom and Killian is not at all surprised to see the king and queen have rushed to their daughter’s side. Emma pulls back from him, astonishment still written across her face. Snow White and Charming step in front of the princess and cut off Killian’s view.

“Emma, what happened?” Charming asks in a trembling voice at the same time his wife gasps, “Oh my goodness, your nose!”

“I don’t know,” Emma says, and through her parents’ forms she makes eye contact with Killian again. “I felt a rush of something inside of me and then it was outside of me and-”

Snow nods and takes her daughter’s hand. “It was True Love’s Kiss, Emma. I would know that feeling anywhere.” The queen turns to look around the vicinity, immediately spotting Killian. She seems to put two and two together, taking in the black feathers on his costume that compliment Emma's new gown. Killian slowly reaches up and pulls off the mask, letting the queen and the king, who has followed his wife’s gaze, get a look at the black swan who has just kissed their daughter.

“Prince Charles?” Charming barks. His hand darts to the sword on his hip but Snow’s grip on his forearm stops him from drawing it.

“No, Daddy.” Emma walks around her father, steps next to Killian and wraps her arm around his waist. The motion feels so normal and so caring that Killian exhales the breath he hadn’t even known he was holding. “He is Earl Killian Jones of Tesouro.”

The king and queen’s eyebrows nearly hit their hairlines.

“No, love,” Killian sighs. He intends to pull her arm away from his waist but she only tangles his fingers with hers and grips him tighter, pulling herself closer and pressing her thigh firmly against his own. He huffs. “I am Captain Killian Jones of the Jolly Roger, a vile pirate who is unwelcome in the Kingdom of Tesouro or in the kingdoms of its allies.”

He tries to give the princess a stern glare but is met with one of her own, eyes twinkling with familiar mischief. “Then I suppose it is convenient that I am about to anger the Kingdom of Tesouro by refusing to marry the king’s son.”

Summoned by either the excitement or the mention of Tesouro, Bae appears at Emma’s side. “Your majesties, your highness!” he pants. “What on earth is going on?” The shock and confusion that play across his face when he gets a good look at the princess turn up the corners of Killian’s mouth. “Princess!” he exclaims. “Your nose! It is no longer- that is to say, it is now-”

“Yes, Prince Baelfire,” Emma says coolly, not moving an inch away from Killian, “I am no longer a ‘porcine princess,’ as you have enjoyed calling me behind my back. I think you’ll find that I will become more desirable among the realm’s nobility.” Her eyes flash and Killian hopes to never be at the receiving end of her wrath. “Your presence is no longer welcome at this celebration. Tomorrow I expect you to return home and let your father know that there is no way in hell the princess of Navaria will be marrying his son.”

Bae recreates a perfect impression of his childhood pout, flouncing away without even glancing at Killian. When he disappears, Killian breathes a sigh of relief that Emma will no longer consider marrying his old friend. At his exhale, Emma turns, startled, and smiles up at him. Without the nose she looks even more like her mother.

“You are truly free, love,” he grins. “You could marry any man you please. I imagine the suitors will be lining up in droves now to get a look at the transformed princess.”

“And yet there is only one man that I want to be with,” she says, demurely lowering her lashes and flicking them open to gaze at him again. The effect is disarming and Killian wonders where a sheltered princess learned the ancient art of female seduction. He gulps.

“Swan, you cannot be serious. I am an outlaw. A liar. A bloody pirate. That is why I refused you a year ago.”

Emma lets go of his fingers to place her hands on either side of his face, mirroring their positions from only a few minutes ago. “Killian,” she whispers, voice low with passion and sincerity, “you loved me before you saw my face. You loved me when I had a cursed nose. And your kiss broke the curse, freeing me completely. I know that I do not need a king to rule by my side. But I _want_ a partner to share my life with, one who loves me, who loves _all of me_. Killian, I love you. Please forget this damn martyr act and promise to be with me too.”

Killian hesitates. This cannot be true, she cannot be looking at him with adoration and understanding in her emerald eyes. How could he ever deserve someone like this swan princess, so gorgeous and clever and daring? Without realizing it, his arms have encircled her waist and he feels himself giving into his desire to listen to her, to be with her.

So he kisses her again.


	18. The Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for joining me on this journey and a very happy ever after to you all <3

The harsh sound of Emma's soles on the floor echo in the silent room and she spares the clock another glance on her fifteenth lap the length of the windows.

“Love, please stop pacing.” Killian catches her elbow and pulls her onto the overstuffed couch in the family sitting room, where she rather ungracefully lands with a huff. “It cannot be good for your health.”

Emma can feel the corners of her lips turn down in frustration. “Pacing is not going to hurt me.”

He places his hand on her knee, calming and reassuring, the warmth and weight so utterly familiar that she feels her breathing slow automatically. “I was not referring to the pacing, Swan. I was referring to your rapid heartbeat when you are vexed.”

Her hand curls around his and she takes a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart and stop herself from looking at the doors anxiously. “I will be less vexed when this conversation is over with.”

The double doors of the room burst open and two of them leap to their feet. But when the king and queen’s urgent faces appear they sit back down, hearts beating and Emma’s foot taps out a tattoo on the gleaming wooden floor.

“Did we miss it?” Charming asks.

Emma shakes her head. “No.” She nods to the ticking grandfather clock in the corner of the room and wrings her hands nervously. “He should be here any moment now.” Her mother settles down on Emma’s other side, capturing one of Emma’s hands in her own and leaving Killian free to grasp her other one. Her father takes up her path, pacing up and down the row of tall windows and Emma follows him with her eyes like a slow-moving metronome.

It doesn’t make a loud noise when it happens, there is not a clap of thunder or a flash of lightning. Just the faint sound of a breeze and a whirling puff of smoke appears, circling and then disintegrating quickly, revealing a diminutive man.

“Ah,” he crows, throwing his hands out in a dramatic fashion. “I believe you called for me, dearie?”

Her mouth falls open and she is entranced by her first encounter with the famous Rumpelstiltskin. He is as short and scaly as she had heard growing up, but he has this aura about him that neither Snow White nor Charming had been able to properly embellish. It is a mischievousness combined with cleverness and great power. She feels a chill run through her and immediately knows that she can never trust this sorcerer.

“Why, princess,” he continues, slithering toward the four of them, nearly beating Charming, who had raced to stand behind her when Rumpelstiltskin appeared. “The last time I saw you you looked like a little piggy!” He squeals and claps his hands. “Good to see you have gotten over that pesky little curse.”

“We have a few questions for you, Dark One,” Killian interjects, his grip tightening around her hand and his clenched jaw revealing his impatience. “First of all, why did you come to my aid two years ago, on the night of Emma’s 26th birthday?”

Rumpelstiltskin's reptile-like hand comes to his chest and his mouth opens in feigned shock. “Why, Prince Killian, it hurts to think that you do not trust my motives.”

Charming scoffs from behind Emma, his hand landing on her shoulder. “You told us about Regina’s curse years ago but you didn’t tell us that it could be broken by True Love’s Kiss. Why would you keep that from us? And why would you help Killian break the curse years later?”

With a dramatic swirl, the Dark One disappears from sight and reappears on the love seat opposite the royals. One of the teacups from the table is now in his hand and he takes a long, dainty sip before he answers, obviously free of the anxiety Emma and her loved ones share. “I did not tell you about how to break the curse because you would have been concerned that your kisses would not have been able to break it.” Confusion must mar all their faces because the small man sighs and continues, setting down the drink. “You and your queen love your daughter very much but Regina made it so that familial love could not break the curse, only romantic love. It was part of the irony of the whole thing.” His voice becomes even more sing-song and his fingers dance to his next words. “The product of true love never finding love of her own.” He grins as if he were the one who came up with the idea in the first place.

“And yet you interceded,” Snow White says after the weight of Rumpelstiltskin's words have sunk in. “Why?”

The man shrugs, dark eyes glimmering with madness, and Emma wonders if there is ever a method to what he does. “To anger Regina, mostly. And the king of Tesouro. He made a deal with me and then betrayed me. It was fun to watch him lose to you.”

Emma’s brow furrows. “You didn’t have anything to do with the king’s sudden death, did you?”

The Dark One giggles again and it sends chills down Emma’s spine. He points a long finger at her husband. “Queen Milah is wonderful ruler, wouldn’t you say, Prince Killian?”

If the words are meant to get under Emma’s skin they do an excellent job, but Killian only shrugs them off. “She is a fair queen and we are happy that she has not held previous conflicts with Navaria against us.”

Rumpelstiltskin grins and stands to offer a short, mocking bow. “A diplomatic answer. You must be taking to your rise in station very well. Now princess,” his eyes turn to Emma and she has to keep herself from flinching, “why don’t you ask me the question you really brought me here for?”

It is the moment of truth, time to receive the answer that she has been agonizing over for weeks. She takes a deep breath and extracts her hands from her mother and her husband to lay them both on her still-flat stomach.

“Will our baby be cursed as I was?”

“No.”

The one word makes all of the muscles in Emma’s body go limp and she sits back against the cushions, relieved. She breaks into the first smile for weeks. Both Snow White and Killian exhale at the news.

The Dark One continues, his fingers steepling below his wide mouth. “With True Love’s Kiss, the curse was broken completely. And as long as this child was conceived between the two of you, it will be immune to any further curses.”

“And the child’s children?” Snow White’s voice is breathless and she is clearly still concerned.

“-Will be born twice-immune to the curse. Regina will not be able to touch them.”

Killian lays his hand on top of hers and presses against her stomach. “I don’t know why you were so worried, love,” he grins. “If our child is half as lovely as you, she will find love one way or another.”

Emma leans against her husband, eyes falling closed and a smile on her lips.

“What a touching moment,” Rumpelstiltskin interrupts dryly. “Are you quite done with this interview?”

“Yes,” Emma says, opening her eyes again to express her earnest gratitude. “Thank you for all of your help.”

The Dark One disappears in another cloud of burgundy smoke and she catches a final sarcastic comment. “You should thank me that I magicked away your ears and tail. There are some things that even a pirate couldn’t get over.”

Covered in kisses and hugs of congratulations and relief, it takes several minutes for Emma to be released from the arms of her parents and Killian. With a last peck on her cheek and pat of her stomach, her parents excuse themselves and Emma is alone with her husband, her pirate, her prince.

“I can’t believe this is really happening,” Emma murmurs against the warm skin of his neck, rubbing her cheek against his rough stubble. “You and I are having a child.”

“I never believed this could be possible, love,” he whispers into her golden hair. “For so many years I thought myself not worthy of happiness like this.”

She looks up into his bright blue eyes and her cheeks are starting to hurt from all the smiling. “You deserve everything in the world, Killian.”

His lips meet hers, soft and adoring and she gets lost in the kiss, lost in his taste and his scent and his hand cupping her cheek and the way he nuzzles against her nose as he pulls away. “It is too much, darling, no man deserves to be this blissful.”

\--

But somehow, despite the overwhelming happiness that threatens to burst both their hearts, they manage to survive.

And they even live happily ever after.


End file.
